Monsters and Men
by Arnapkapfaaluk
Summary: Draaga came from a mysterious kingdom far to the north, and fought every step of the way to becoming the only female Guardian of Cloister. Navigating her tenuous relationship with her captain becomes even more difficult when a bean stalk sprouts to Gantua and the princess goes missing. But Giants aren't the only monsters still living in Albion, and Draaga has a secret... Elmont/OC
1. Wolves at the Gate

Author's Note: Hello there! I've been rolling this idea around in my head ever since I saw Jack the Giant Slayer a couple of weeks ago. Ewan McGregor absolutely stole the show, and I loved the movie; but it was sorely lacking in the badass-ladies category, as well as in the Elmont-love-interest category. So I decided to remedy that.

This story will eventually cover the events of the movie, but it begins about five years before it (I think Isabelle is 18 in the movie, so she's 13 here. I think her mother died when she was 11, but if anyone knows for certain, please correct me!). So if you haven't seen the movie yet, there shouldn't be any real spoilers for at least several chapters.

I'm currently working on chapter two, so it should be up shortly. Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I have so far! Please review and let me know what you think!

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Chapter One: _Wolves at the Gate_

"What do you _mean_, there are wolves at the gate?"

"_Dire_ wolves, captain! And men riding them! They demand to see the king!"

Elmont hurried to untie and mount his horse, barking orders. "Crawe! You're in charge here. Drake, Martin, Haze, and…Piedmont! With me!" He turned to the three knights who'd ridden from the gate to warn him. "You three as well. If it's a fight they want, we'll need your strength."

"Captain!" Elmont turned, finding Crawe rushing toward him, sword in hand. "I think you'll be wanting this, sir!"

He glanced down at the wooden training sword in his hand, which he'd been using to demonstrate tactics to his men. He tossed it to Crawe and accepted the real one, sliding its familiar weight back into its scabbard. "Thank you. If you hear the signal, rally the men and meet us at the gate."

"Yes, sir."

The Captain of the King's Guardians surveyed his men, checking that they were all mounted and armed, and then spurred his horse in the direction of the city. "With me—to the gate!"

They rode hard and fast away from the training ground and through the city, to the northern gate, where a league of knights had gathered, uncertain how to defend against this strange threat. Faulk, the Commander of the City Guard, spotted him and waved him forward, and the knights parted before him, giving Elmont a view of the five dire wolves.

They were enormous, larger than horses though not so tall. Their riders sat with neither saddles nor reins, each cloaked in brown, black, or gray to match the fur of the beasts they rode, their hoods raised to hide their faces in shadow. Beneath, they seemed clothed in thick furs and supple leathers—hardly substantial armor for storming the city, if that was their intention. A few wore swords on their waists, though others held axes or spears. All weapons were held loosely, non-threateningly, kept within reach but not intended for attack.

Elmont rode forward, past the rows of knights, reigning up at a distance from the silent, still strangers. "Who are you, and what business do you have in Cloister?"

One of the black wolves growled, shifting its feet, and its evidently-male, black-cloaked rider snarled, "Who wants to know?"

Elmont lowered his hand to the hilt of his sword, making certain that they all saw the gesture. "I am Sir Elmont, Captain of the King's Guardians, and _I will not ask again_."

The same rider _hissed_, his hand dropping to his own sword as his wolf pawed the ground anxiously; but the central rider, in gray cloak atop a gray wolf, trotted forward, a hand raised for peace. The other stilled immediately.

The gray-cloaked rider reached up and lowered its hood. "_You_ are Sir Elmont?"

His breath caught in his throat at the sight, a thick knot of surprise that tied up his mind and his tongue—this rider, armed with an axe and a spear and a dirk, sitting proudly on the back of a dire wolf…was a _woman._ She had light brown skin and dark brown eyes, and bright white hair incongruous with her youthful appearance, pulled back in a long, thick braid. Her features were cruel, with dark, full lips that seemed prone to scowling, high cheekbones, thick white eyebrows, and sharp, intelligent eyes. She was fearsome…and beautiful.

"…I am," he finally managed to answer, hoping it hadn't taken as long as it had felt.

A grin spread across the woman's face, adding a strangely-fitting softness to her features that made her even more attractive. "It is a great pleasure to meet you, Sir Elmont. Tales of your prowess and courage have spread far and wide, even to those of us in Kaerregg."

Elmont had heard very little of the land of Kaerregg—only that it was insurmountably far to the north, nearly uninhabitable, and populated with fierce warriors.

Before he could ask about it, the hotheaded, black-cloaked Kaerreggan spoke again with an evident sneer. "Oh yes, it's so _courageous_ to slay an aging dragon!"

"Kieran, _still your tongue_!" the woman reprimanded with a glare as sharp as her words, and the man crossed his arms and kept his silence.

Elmont felt a fresh sting of remorse, wondering how they had possibly heard about _that_, the final task that had earned him his position as captain. "I'll admit, it was a sorry business. The creature seemed out of its mind in senility; but it is my duty to protect the kingdom from _all_ attacks, including that of an aged, confused dragon."

The woman seemed to hang on his words, her brow lowered in concern. "It attacked Albion?"

Elmont nodded slowly. "Yes. Of course! I would never have done such a despicable thing were it not for the safety of the kingdom. To have to kill such a noble beast—the last dragon in Albion, if not the world—is…a tragedy."

She hung her head solemnly. "A tragedy indeed…" She shot a fierce glance at her companion, and held out her hand. "Kieran, give me the letter."

With an annoyed grunt, the man reached within his leather tunic, retrieving a rolled-up piece of parchment that he handed to the woman. She unrolled it, eyes scanning its contents quickly. "I have not tampered with it!" her companion hissed.

"I should certainly hope not," she murmured, not raising her eyes from the paper, though her tone carried enough of a threat that a glare was not needed. The man called Kieran crossed his arms again with an annoyed huff.

Apparently satisfied with its contents, she rolled the letter back up and dismounted from her wolf in a smooth, liquid motion. The four remaining riders all rose up to follow, but she held up a hand. "Stay amount!" she commanded and, hesitantly, they sat back down. She strode forward, holding her spear up to her wolf. "Hold please?" she asked, and it gripped the shaft in its mouth, displaying long, sharp teeth. She thanked it with a pat to its furry cheek, and then strode across the ground between herself and the knights of Cloister.

She was much shorter than he had anticipated, but she walked with purpose and authority, stopping several feet from him—too far away to be capable of reaching him with her weapons. She gestured back to her companions. "Excuse me. I simply did not wish for our mounts to frighten yours. They seem easily startled." She gazed up at his horse in something like wonder. "What are they?"

Elmont frowned, glancing around at his fellow guardians, who looked just as uncertain about this whole ordeal as he felt. "They're, uh…_horses_. Have you never seen a horse before?"

She blinked and shrugged, glancing back at her companions. "I have _heard_ of them, and we saw a few on our journey south, but did not know their names. Their long legs are ill suited to the terrain of our mountains."

Elmont's horse shifted beneath him, uncomfortable under her appraising gaze and with the nearness of the wolves.

"My lady?" Kieran called. "The _letter_?"

She straightened her shoulders and stood tall, lips pulling into a scowl at being corrected. "Yes, of course." She blinked, and then smiled up at Elmont, holding out the letter to him. "This is an invitation from your King Brahmwell. We have come in hopes to garner a preemptive peace treaty between Albion and Kaerregg."

Elmont eased his horse forward, taking the parchment from her. She took ample steps back, posing no threat while his attentions were diverted by the contents of the letter. It was as she said; he recognized Brahmwell's signature and seal, and it was written in the king's own handwriting, not that of his scribe, so it could be no forgery. Elmont frowned, rolling the parchment tightly. Why had the king not informed them to expect these strange visitors? "I cannot allow your mounts to enter the city," he informed her, handing the letter back. "Our horses are less easily startled than our people."

She frowned, tucking the parchment into the waistband of her leather leggings. "It is not wise for us to leave our wolves behind. They are not tame, and are obedient only to our commands." She turned to survey her companions for a moment before turning back to him. "What if only two of us come in, myself and one other and our mounts?"

He stroked his beard, considering her offer. They were well armed and surely dangerous; but they were here on invitation of the king, and had proven themselves trustworthy thus far. Truth be told, he didn't much like the thought of leaving these wolves unsupervised, no more than he liked the idea of letting them into the city. "What assurance do I have that they'll do no harm?"

She nodded, surprisingly pleased with his answer. "If one harms even the smallest of lambs, you can have its head." Her hand dropped to her side, drumming her fingers along the blade of the axe on her well-formed hip. "I'll chop it off for you myself."

Elmont looked her over carefully. There was a playful smile on her lips, but also a fierce look in her eye that assured him she was not joking. He nodded. "Very well. You and one other will be accompanied directly to the castle. The rest must stay here, outside the gate."

She bowed her head, looking him over from under strange, white eyelashes. "Thank you, Sir Elmont." She spun on her heel and strode back to her wolf, accepting her spear from its mouth, planting its base on the ground, and using it as leverage to propel herself up and mount the beast. With a smirk, she propped the spear against her shoulder and glanced around at her companions, deciding who would accompany her. "Kieran, with me."

All four of her companions protested the order, loudly and vehemently, though none more so than Kieran himself. She scowled deeply, letting it go on for half a moment before whirling her wolf around to face them, shouting at them in a bizarre, guttural language he'd never heard before. They all fell silent immediately. "Now, this is _not up for discussion_!" she snarled, in English again. "I want to keep my _eye_ on you, Kieran... And I intend to use your anger to assure Albion of our _dire need_ for a peace treaty." She whirled her wolf to face him, glaring. "Do _not_ make me regret the decision."

He bowed his head. "Yes, my lady."

She scowled, and her wolf padded forward quickly, Kieran following closely. She noticed the nervous shifting of the horses, and kept their wolves a safe distance away, looking expectantly at Elmont.

He turned to Faulk, gesturing to the twelve mounted knights to his left—including the three who had ridden to the training grounds to inform him of these strange visitors. "May I have these men?" Faulk nodded, waving the men forward. "You lot, surround them; keep the people from bothering our guests—our _King's_ guests." He nodded to his fellow guardians. "You four, stay with the rest of the knights and the remaining Kaerreggan ambassadors."

Elmont looked over the bizarre woman. He liked her. Perhaps too much. He liked the way she commanded her men and the way they obeyed her. He liked the way she handled the dire wolf that looked perfectly capable of eating her for breakfast. He liked the awareness she showed in her intentional, deliberate manner of assuring him that her people posed no threat, despite their threatening appearance. He liked the way she'd been distracted by wonder at the novelty of horses. He liked the way she scowled. He liked the way she'd smiled at him.

She was too beautiful for him to like her this much. He was beginning to see a dangerous path ahead.

He gestured for her to follow, and turned and led her and her friend and the twelve knights under the gate and through the city. They took the long way to the castle, trying to avoid as many populous streets as possible. Even so, they drew quite a crowd; and by the time they reached the castle, people were flooding the streets to see them, and they had to force their way through.

True to the woman's word, the wolves did nothing more than occasionally growl when someone came too close.

Finally, they arrived at the castle gate, pressing through into the courtyard and closing the gate behind them—and keeping the civilians out. He dismounted, the knights following his lead, and the Kaerreggans did as well. He turned to them, hands out in supplication. "I cannot let you take your weapons inside."

The woman nodded slowly, handing her spear to Kieran, who stood rigidly, looking much less willing to disarm. She removed her axe as well, and her dirk; and then she started pulling knives and hatchets and daggers out of places he couldn't even _see_, leaving something like twenty blades in a pile on the ground. She glared at Kieran, who grudgingly followed her lead, though he did not have as many weapons as she did.

She looked up at Elmont. "You see we are cooperating. But I must insist that our mounts accompany us inside. I know you won't like it, but I assure you, it is much safer that way."

Elmont sighed heavily, and then nodded. "Very well. Come along." He led them inside, still accompanied by the knights, through the winding corridors of the castle, listening to the foreign sound of the click of the wolves' claws on the stone floors.

The guards heaved open the doors to the king's throne room, casting wary glances at the newcomers. Elmont strode ahead of the strange company, bowing before his king. "Sire, these are ambassadors of peace from the Kingdom of Kaerregg. They have come on your request."

Surprising them all, it was the young princess, peeking out from behind her father's throne, who spoke first. "Are you Lady Draaga?"

The woman stepped forward to stand beside Elmont. "I am. Are you Princess Isabelle?"

The girl squealed, running forward. Before Elmont could react, the woman—Lady Draaga—caught her up in a warm embrace, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around with a bright laugh.

There was no one in the kingdom that Elmont cared more deeply about than the Princess Isabelle. She was like a younger sister to him; and seeing her laughing in the arms of this strange, foreign woman only made him like her more.

"Father said you might not come!" Isabelle exclaimed when she was returned to the ground.

The woman put her hands on her hips, bending over just slightly to look the princess in the eye, despite the fact that she was only a few inches taller. "And miss the opportunity to finally meet you? Not a chance!"

"I must admit," the King began, "I was not expecting you so soon."

The smile fell from her face and she straightened up, all business. "My apologies, King Brahmwell. We left immediately upon receipt of your invitation, and journeyed here sooner than a letter ever could."

The king nodded, rising to his feet. "Your alacrity is inspiring." He waved a hand at the knights in the room and at his many attendants. "Clear my schedule, and leave us. We have…much to discuss."

"Sire—" Elmont began, glancing back at the wolves. The gray one was lying on the ground, watching its rider with an unblinking gaze, awaiting orders; the black one sat back on its haunches, scratching its ear with powerful movements of its back leg, displaying long, dangerous claws. He could not leave his king unguarded!

"Elmont, your guardians are busy at training, are they not?"

"They are, sire."

"Excellent. Kindly escort my daughter to her chambers and return to your men."

"_Sire_—" he insisted, unwilling to abandon his king with such dangerous beasts; but the Lady Draaga placed a hand on his arm, and all protest was forgotten.

"I assure you, Sir Elmont, we are here for peace."

He looked into her eyes, trying to read their dark depths, and found no malice there. Sending one last, unheeded, pleading look to the king, Elmont sighed. "Come along, Princess Isabelle."

The princess pouted, until Draaga bent and pressed a kiss to her temple, ruffling her hair. "I will see you again soon enough, dear one. I promise."

With a resigned frown, Isabelle nodded and took Elmont's hand, letting him lead her from the room as they followed the knights and attendants.

He only glanced back once, as the guards closed the doors behind him, finding the woman watching him carefully, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He thought he saw her wink at him, and found himself wishing that the promise she'd made with Isabelle had been made with him instead.


	2. Prove Your Worth

Author's Note: Hello again! Here's the second chapter of my little story. Thank you so much to those who reviewed and followed and favorited; you guys are so encouraging, and kept me motivated to get this chapter written as soon as possible!

Oh man, this chapter was a lot of fun to write. I've left a bunch of hints in this one, for what Draaga and the Kaerreggans actually are. I'm not gonna reveal that until much later, but I wonder if you guys have any guesses? Haha, I would love to hear what you think! Hope you enjoy, and please review!

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Chapter Two: _Prove Your Worth_

**Draaga -**

Draaga watched the Captain of the Guardians exit the throne room, holding the hand of the young princess to whom she'd been writing letters since the death of the queen. From the stories she'd heard, she hadn't expected him to be so young—or so _handsome_. He turned to glance at her just before the doors closed, and she couldn't help a smile and a not-very-subtle wink.

Kieran cleared his throat, and her smile instantly turned into a scowl. She shot him a glare, hissed, "Remove your hood," and turned to face the king. Kieran grunted, but obeyed, displaying a scowl to rival her own.

She straightened her shoulders and gazed up at the king on his dais. "King Brahmwell, I am known as Draaga. This is my companion, Kieran. There are three more of us waiting outside the city. But they have merely come to keep me safe; for all intents and purposes, _I_ am the ambassador of Kaerregg."

His brow furrowed, but he stepped down from the dais to stand before her. "I know my daughter puts great value in your letters; but does Kaerregg really intend to be represented by a _woman_?"

Kieran snarled and stepped forward, reaching for a sword that was not there. "We do not labor under your foolish misconceptions of gender. Do _not_ insult my lady."

Draaga placed a hand on her red-haired friend's shoulder, and murmured in their own language, "_Remember that we are guests here, dear Kieran. Try not to insult their customs?_"

He growled softly, affectionately, and she realized just how much it would hurt not to hear that sound again. "_I do not like this. I do not like the idea of you staying here with these primitive apes_."

"_I know. I am not fond of it either_." She released him, turning to force a smile for the king. "Forgive us, King Brahmwell; but my companion does speak the truth, despite how harshly he spoke it. We find women to be just as capable leaders as men—do not forget, it was your wife who first established genial relations between our lands."

"I have not forgotten," the king responded gruffly, evidently displeased.

"Good to know. I was personally selected by our leaders for this task—partly because of my brief association with your wife and enduring association with your daughter—but mostly because _I am the most qualified for the task_." She strode over to the table, covered in trinkets and scraps of paper left behind by hastily-fleeing attendants. "I do not mean to sound threatening," she lied, trailing her fingers along the edge of the wooden table as she circled it slowly, "but if you refuse to hear my offer and turn me away, Kaerregg will see that as a rejection of peace—and thus, an act of war." She drummed her fingers against a colorful map of what these men knew of the world, tracing the top edge of the parchment, beyond which lay her homeland. "That is a war you would not win, King Brahmwell…" With a sigh, she turned away and looked back to the king. "…And one we greatly do not wish to fight."

The king sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "We do not wish to fight your people, either." He lowered his hands, blinking at her blearily. "You said that you have an offer?"

"Oh, yes, _that_," Kieran muttered, and she shot him a dirty look before hoisting herself up to sit on the edge of the table, crossing her legs and leaning forward with what she hoped was an endearing—and not threatening—grin.

"The offer of Kaerregg is…_me_."

"_I beg your pardon?_"

"The leaders of Kaerregg desire that I stay here, in Cloister, under your service, for…the foreseeable future." She placed her hands on the table behind her and leaned back, trying to determine his reaction by the emotions on his face. "Your willingness to host and employ me shall be a sign of your good will to Kaerregg, with whom I shall have regular correspondence to assure them that I am being treated correctly. In return, you shall have my full service, as well as the support of my people whenever it should be required."

Brahmwell shook his head. "No, no, no… We cannot have one of your people in Cloister!"

Kieran snarled. "_Our people_ are crying for an invasion of your land, and it is _only_ because of my lady that it has not already happened! Would you rather have _one_ or a _hundred_?"

Draaga sighed. "As you can see, I am somewhat more even-tempered than my brothers and sisters. I am more capable of keeping this shape, feeble as it is, for longer spans of time. So long as you allow me to return home at least once a year, we should be able to avoid any…_incidents_."

It seemed to take him a very long time to consider her words. He stared at her for several moments, and then turned away and began pacing in long, slow strides. "I suppose…we could find something for you to do… Isabelle is very fond of you, so…perhaps as her handmaiden-"

"_What_ did you say?" Kieran exclaimed. "Lady Draaga, a _handmaiden_?" He looked at her, then back at the king, and then began to _laugh_, so hard that he had to double over, clutching his sides. "Dra—Draaga, do you—do you even _own_ a dress?"

"I think you misunderstand me, King Brahmwell," she began, ignoring Kieran's question (she didn't, and hadn't owned one since childhood) and sliding off the edge of the table, chuckling herself. "I…am _not_ a maid, nor shall I _ever_ be one, in Kaerregg or Albion." She ceased laughing and dropped all hint of smile, crossing her arms over her chest. "I am a _warrior_. That is my service. That is what I have trained for since I was a child, and that is what I shall be until I am incapable of lifting a spear or wielding an axe _or raising my own fists_." She vented through her nose, sickened at the very thought of being unable to fight. "There is no shame in being a maid; it is honorable to serve in such a capacity. But that is _not_ what I am here for. I will fight for you, or I will return to Kaerregg with your declaration of war."

The king visibly paled at her words. "I cannot, in good conscience, allow a woman to become a soldier!"

"You have other fighters, do you not?" Kieran asked, straightening up now that his laughter had finally stilled, for once being the voice of reason rather than the instigator. "Beyond soldiers? What of the men who escorted us here to the castle?"

"The _Guardians_?" He shook his head quickly. "No, no, no, I… There has never been a _female_ guardian before!"

"Well surely," Draaga began with a smirk, "you can make an exception for a female _Kaerreggan_?"

The king covered his eyes with his hands, sighed heavily, and then slowly nodded his head. "I suppose, if such an exception had to be made… Very well. Let us go speak with Captain Elmont."

He turned and began to lead them from the throne room, and Draaga followed, clicking her tongue to get the wolves to follow as well. Kieran came up alongside her and threw his arm around her neck, bearing his annoying height down upon her. "Yes," he murmured, stooping to speak directly into her ear, "let us go see _Captain Elmont_."

She sent a practiced elbow into his ribs and shoved him off with a scowl.

* * *

**Elmont -**

Elmont caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see the king, that woman, her companion, and those damned wolves coming down the stairs from the castle to enter the training grounds. His opponent took advantage of his distraction, landing a blow to his jaw that knocked his teeth together and threw his head back so hard that he took two steps back to compensate.

"Oh! Oh, Captain—shit! I'm so sorry!"

"No, no, no," he waved him off, wiping at his mouth and flinching as his fingers brushed against what was certain to become a nasty bruise on his jaw. "It's alright, I'm alright." He clapped the man on the shoulder and told him, "Well done, Graves. That was a fine blow," trying to grin so the young recruit didn't see how much it was hurting him to do so.

"T-thank you, sir."

He patted his shoulder a few more times, excused himself, and made his way across the yard to the king, hoping that he—and that woman—hadn't seen him get hit. The fighting came to a halt, and the men all turned to stare at the newcomers, and the strange creatures they'd rode in on. "Sire! How may we be of service?"

King Brahmwell turned to the two Kaerreggan ambassadors, who were currently having a rather animated conversation in what he assumed was the same strange language she'd used before. Elmont took a good look at her companion, seeing his face for the first time. He shared her dark skin, but his hair was a deep, dark red, hanging loosely to his jaw. His expression shared her severity, though his features were too dissimilar for them to be related; his nose was too angular, his jaw too square, his lips too thin, and his mouth too wide. His eyes were even darker than hers, narrowed into what was likely a permanent glare, especially as their conversation seemed to become even more heated.

Brahmwell cleared his throat, and the woman smacked her companion in the chest to shut him up and turned to face the king. The man called Kieran crossed his arms with a huff, but did not speak again.

With a resigned look on his face, the king announced, "Elmont, this is Lady Draaga…and I wish for her to join the Guardians of Cloister."

The whole yard burst into laughter. Elmont heard Tanner's voice from somewhere behind him call, jokingly, "As what? The Guardians' official _whore?_" The king didn't appear to have heard that, but the male Kaerreggan certainly did, reaching for a sword that was not there with a vicious sneer on his face. The woman placed a hand on his arm to stop him from advancing, her expression blank, her gaze roaming over all the men who laughed at her before settling, expectantly, on him.

Elmont raised his hand for silence, waiting until all chatter had ceased. There had never been a female Guardian before, but if it was his king's wish, he would not go against it.

Not directly, anyway.

"Forgive me, sire; but _no one_ becomes a Guardian until they prove their worth in battle." He snatched up his training sword by the blunt, wooden shaft, holding the hilt out to the Lady Draaga with what he knew was a challenging look.

She shrugged her cloak off and handed it to her companion, adjusted the belt around her thin waist and the strips of leather that bound her wrists, and descended the steps, accepting the sword from him to a chorus of a few cheers and another hearty round of laughter.

"It has been a long time since I've used a sword," she muttered, twirling the sword in her hand and tapping it against her leg, testing its weight.

Elmont waved his hand for silence again, looking around at his men and trying to decide whom to put her up against. "Tanner!" he finally called, "Come show us what she's got." If she was any good, this would give her the opportunity to pay him back for his dishonorable comment; and if she wasn't, Tanner wasn't much of a fighter, either, and hopefully wouldn't do too much damage.

"Me against one man?" she called, watching closely as her opponent approached and the rest of the men cleared a space for them. "That hardly seems fair, does it, Kieran?"

"Indeed it does not, my lady!" he called in return.

Elmont felt a twinge of guilt, wondering why his king was allowing this to go on. "I'm sorry, Lady Draaga…but there are no women for you to fight."

Both Kaerreggans broke into laughter, and Draaga fixed him with an unflinching gaze and cocky grin. "…I meant for _him_."

She got into a loose stance, keeping the sword behind her with the tip pointed toward the ground, as the men around her laughed again. Enraged at her words, Tanner shoved one of his fellow guardians out of the way; and before Elmont could call, "Go!" he was charging toward her.

It all happened in a matter of seconds; Tanner raced toward her, throwing a heavy blow. Like a flash, Draaga spun out of his way. With a flick of her wrist, her sword swung up between his legs; and in the next instant, Tanner was writhing on the ground, clutching his manhood and wailing in pain, his sword lying on the ground, abandoned, meters from his hand.

All was silent and still, except for Tanner's anguished cries, and the hearty laughter of the male Kaerreggan.

The woman straightened up, squaring her shoulders, and cast a fearsome gaze around the crowd of guardians. "I am not a _whore_, and I am not a _maid_, and any man who tries to treat me as such will be dealt with in the same manner."

All of the men turned to Elmont, wondering what the Captain of the Guardians would have to say to that; but it was a fair move, and he merely shrugged. "You are well within your rights to defend your own honor. If you join our ranks, no one shall defend it for you."

She laughed, sharing a grin with her companion. "Thanks, Captain! I'm sure that won't be a problem." She turned that grin to Elmont, a wicked gleam in her eye, and winked again. "Now, _who else wants a go at me?_" she cried, throwing her hands out to either side.

She was answered by a chorus of cheers, the men all jeering their friends to go next. Oren, one of his tallest, biggest, and strongest men, stepped forward with a grin. "I, uh… I'd like to give her a try, Captain, if that's okay with you?"

Elmont grabbed the two men closest to him, nodding toward Tanner. "Help him up. The rest of you—clear the ground!"

Draaga's grin broadened as the man stepped into the clearing, sizing him up. "Oh, you're a big boy, aren't you?" she teased, easing back into that loose stance of hers. "Not big on manners, I'd wager, to pick on little, old me…"

Oren grunted and charged; their height difference was tremendous, and when he swung at her, she easily ducked beneath it. But then she shot up, blindingly fast, catching him in the stomach with her fist and the hilt of the sword, heaved him over her head, and flipped him onto his back—where he lay, gasping for breath.

The shock of her ability was beginning to wear off among the men, and a few sporadic cheers and a round of applause went up as Oren went down.

Without missing a beat, she spun on her heel to face Elmont with a hand on her hip and a barely-suppressed grin. "Surely this isn't the best you've got, Captain? You need me more than I thought!"

"Crawe?" he called out.

His second-in-command stepped forward, just as two more men helped Oren to his feet. "Don't worry, Captain. I'll put her in her place."

She threw her head back and laughed. "Oh, will you? I dunno, Captain. I would worry if I were you!"

The words were still coming out of her mouth when Crawe was on her; he was much quicker than Oren, but she was quicker still, swinging her sword up at the very last second to block the heavy blow. "You talk too much," Crawe grunted, bearing his weight down where their swords were joined, trying to force her back.

Instead, she craned her neck in close, almost as if she was going to kiss him, a huge grin plastered on her face. "I'm just trying to keep you distracted," she said sweetly. When she spun out from beneath him, she caught his foot with one of hers and _cracked_ the end of her wooden sword against his leg, sending Crawe to the ground like the others, clutching at his knee in agony.

She stood above him, peering down with her hands on her hips, clicking her tongue. "Oh, I do hope that knee's not dislocated," she said, in a manner too congenial and too clinical for the situation. "I tried to aim high, but I daresay you've got some height on me as well."

Crawe rolled over, struggling to stand without putting weight on his knee, and—surprising everyone—Draaga bent and grabbed his arm, helping him up herself. "Not dislocated, I think," he told her, "It just hurts like hell." And then Crawe laughed, shaking her hand heartily, and then limping away as the crowd cheered.

Draaga spun around, grinning at them all, not even having broken a sweat. "Would you boys like to line up, and let me take you out one by one? Or would you rather give me a _real_ challenge?"

Elmont crossed his arms and nodded his head, watching carefully as ten of his best men ran forward to attack.

She was _impossibly_ fast, small and light and quick enough to dodge the men weighted down by their thick plate armor. He'd never seen anyone fight like she did, fierce, swift, with a smile on her face, laughing and calling out compliments whenever anyone actually landed a blow—which wasn't often.

Eventually, Elmont had had enough of watching his best men being beaten to a pulp by a woman, so he placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The men all dropped their swords, as they'd been trained, and Draaga lowered her sword, panting and wiping at the hair that had fallen loose from her braid and been plastered to her forehead. Her grin never faltered as she watched him approach, her eyes darting to the sword in his hand. "Are you ready to fight me yourself now, Captain?"

He waited until he was close enough to touch her, and then tossed the training sword down at her feet. "I would much rather fight _beside_you, Lady Draaga." He held out his hand to her. "Welcome to the Guardians."

She dropped her sword, and ignored his hand in favor of throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug as the men around them whistled and cheered. The surprise knocked the air from his lungs. His senses were overwhelmed with her; she was laughing again, and her thick white hair was blurring his vision, and her breath was brushing against his cheek, and the smell of her made his heart pound and his tongue feel like sandpaper, and the whole world and everything in it shrank down to her body against his.

When she pulled away, one of her hands lingered against his neck, as the other brushed the hair out of her eyes. She laughed again, though she sounded a bit nervous, and a blush was working its way onto her cheeks. "Sorry about that, Captain," she murmured, taking a step back and pulling her hand away. "Got a bit excited. You have no idea what this means for my people… But I promise I'll be more professional from now on."

He could do nothing but nod dumbly as the king called her name and she jogged over to the steps and knelt at their base. He may have blacked out, because the next thing he was aware of was King Brahmwell tapping his sword against both of her shoulders and saying, "…Lady Draaga, Knight of Albion and Guardian of Cloister."

* * *

**Draaga -**

Draaga and Kieran returned to the city gate, escorted by Captain Elmont. The king had ordered his scribes to write up a physical treaty, which she and Kieran both signed—as well as a mandate for his personal possession, declaring that she would not change while in Albion, unless given express permission from the King. She had signed that as well, then scribbled out a letter of explanation of all that had occurred during their visit for the leaders of Kaerregg, and signed it in her true name, biting down on her thumb until it bled and smearing the blood beside her signature. She had entrusted that letter to Kieran, praying that he would continue to be sensible about this whole ordeal, and not try to tamper with the letter in order to incite war.

She had removed her things from the back of her wolf, handing them off to a team of servants who would carry them to her temporary chambers within the castle—as Captain Elmont had pointed out, it was unwise for her to reside in the Guardians' barracks, so she would live near the princess until something better could be decided upon.

She had been reunited with her weapons; and their familiar weight on her body offered her some small comfort as she said goodbye to her friends, the brave four who had made the dangerous journey south to ensure she made it safely.

Avalle had helped raise her, after her mother had died. Eol had taught her to swing an axe, and Eolson had been her sparring partner ever since. And Kieran…

She threw her arms around Kieran's neck, pressing her face into his chest. He had been her best friend since their teeth came in—he had bitten her tail, and she had thrown him off, and they had fought…and by the time they had worn each other out, they were absolutely inseparable.

"_Write to me_," he told her, in the language she would miss with all her heart, "_as often as you can. Tell me everything._" She nodded furiously, and he kissed her forehead. "_You are going to be alright, little monster. You are going to be amazing, and you are going to make us all proud. And then, one day, that old king will die, and you will get to come home for good._"

She pulled away, wiping at her eyes. "_I am going to miss you so much, Kieran_."

"_As I am going to miss you, Draaga_." He nudged her chin with his fist, and then nodded over her shoulder. "_He likes you_," he purred, leaning in close.

She glanced back to see Elmont there atop his mount, watching her intently. "_That's convenient, as we'll be fighting with each other_," she told him, trying to sound dismissive.

"_You know what I mean_," he said with a grin, before pulling her in for one last hug. "_And you like him, too. Try not to like him too much, please? I don't want you to have a reason to stay here, when the time comes_."

She laughed, squeezing him tightly. "_That will not be a problem. Nothing could keep me from returning home_."

"_It had better not_." He released her, shoving her toward Elmont. "_Go on, little monster. We'll see each other again soon_." He swung up onto the back of his wolf, taking his place with the others.

She turned to her wolf, who held out her spear with a whine. Elmont did not like the idea of her keeping him in Cloister, and she did not want him to be separated from his pack, so he would return with the others. She took the spear from his hand, and he pressed his nose against her cheek, his tongue darting out to lick her face. "_I will miss you, too. Thank you, little brother. Be safe._" She stepped back, planting the spear firmly into the ground and laying her free hand over her heart. "_Ride well, my friends. Be safe. I will see you soon… I will make you proud._"

The riders nodded and turned their wolves and ran off, heading north and taking her heart with them.

When they reached the tree line, Elmont guided his horse up beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Draaga—"

"I'm alright. Let's go," she told him, not wanting to hear what he had to say. He removed his foot from the stirrup of his mount's saddle, so she could use it to step up, sliding into place behind him. She wrapped one arm around his waist, holding her spear out with the other so as not to hit him or his mount with it. Elmont turned it back toward the city and nudged it to a trot, and she gasped and gripped him tighter. This was not nearly as gentle a ride as a wolf, and she prayed she wouldn't fall off of it, on her very first day in Cloister.

"These…_horses_…are very tall creatures," she said, trying to make some sort of conversation so she wouldn't have to think about the possibility of never seeing her homeland again.

"…Yes," he agreed slowly. "But they are not all as tall as this. We will try to find a shorter one for you."

"Oh. Thank you."

He nodded. "We will also need to get you a suit of armor; I'm afraid we don't have any designed for a woman, and I don't know who would be willing to even make such a suit."

She groaned, eyeing the heavy metal that covered his body. "It cannot be like yours. My speed is my greatest asset; I cannot be weighted down as you are."

"I have been thinking about that, actually, since watching you fight. You tore my men apart. We may need to redesign all of the Guardians' armor, to allow for greater movement and agility."

"You could certainly use it," she agreed.

"_We_," he corrected. "_We _could certainly use it. You are a Guardian now as well, Lady Draaga."

"Oh… Right." She fell silent, having run out of things to say, thinking about her old life in Kaerregg and wondering what her new life in Albion would be like.

She tugged the hood of her cloak up as they entered the city, not wanting to draw too much attention. The women here did not look like she did, and none of the people acted like she was used to. She only saw one fight break out on their ride to the castle, and both men involved seemed intoxicated, and no one appeared to be having fun. There were a great many things for her to get used to here.

Suddenly, Elmont placed a hand over hers, holding the mount's reigns with only one hand. "I do not know what your homeland is like, or what you are leaving behind. But I hope that you will be happy here. And I… I am very glad that you are staying, Draaga. I think it's going to be alright."

She pressed her face against the metal of his armor, huddling down into her cloak, blinking back tears. "Thank you, Elmont."


	3. Letters to Kieran

Author's Note: Ohhhhhh man am I tired. My deepest apologies for any errors you might find in this chapter. It's so late it's early, and I promise I'll get back and edit out any typos soon. It's been a heck of a week. I hope you guys are having an easier time of it than I am!

Also, wow, this chapter is like a million pages long. I don't think they'll all be this long; there was just a lot I needed to cover in this chapter. Do you guys prefer chapters to be long or short? Mine tend to be pretty lengthy, but I could try to cut them into more manageable chunks if you'd prefer. Just let me know!

This chapter also happens to be chock full of hints about the Kaerreggans! Hopefully I haven't given it away yet; I'm saving the big reveal for later, but I'm still curious to know what you think they might be!

Thank you a million times over to all who have reviewed and followed and favorited! You guys are way too good to me. I know I owe a few of you messages and replies, and I'm so sorry about that, but I really need to get some sleep (now that the sun is coming out...). I promise I'll get right on that as soon as possible! I love you guys, and hope you enjoy this next chapter!

* * *

Chapter Three: _Letters to Kieran_

Day 7

_My dearest Kieran,_

_This is a very strange place. There is much I do not understand. But I am hopeful that I will soon begin to become accustomed. I now have a place to live outside of the castle, which is a great relief—it was much too stifling there. My new home was once used as a guard station for a well at the edge of the city, in case of siege. It is small, and still needs a great deal of work to be comfortably habitable—most notably, the roof leaks, and they say that it rains here often, which I am greatly not looking forward to—but it has a bed and a fire, and a table where I can sit and write these letters to you, and that is all I need. The well is old, but still does its job, so I also have a source of water nearby, which is a great luxury here. They do not have our hot springs, nor the constant presence of snow and ice._

_Also, I mentioned that it is at the edge of the city. I have written also to the leaders informing them of this; but should I be unable to keep this form, I will hopefully be able to flee the city before doing too much damage. I think the king feels more comfortable, the farther away I am. I think I feel the same. This city is loud, and busy; and my home is distant, and secluded. I am fond of this new solitude, but I fear it makes me more prone to reflecting on my homesickness._

_I miss all of you very much._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 23

_My dearest Kieran,_

_I believe I am beginning to grow accustomed to this place. I am still not allowed to go to the market unsupervised. People do not fight here like they do at home; they only seem to do it if they are angry at each other, and when it is over they are only angrier. No one fights for fun here, except occasionally some of the other Guardians. They are getting better. They are beginning to stop underestimating me. There is a man named Crawe, second in command of the Guardians, who fights with me nearly every day, and does well. He is almost as strong as me, though I am still much quicker. He enjoys a good fight._

_The market vendors, however, do not enjoy a good fight, and refuse to sell to me unless another Guardian is present. I like it best when the captain accompanies me; he does not get impatient, or exasperated when I ask too many questions. I am so full of questions, and he tries very hard to answer them, and explain what their foods are and how to prepare them. He is very busy, though, and does not always have time to take me himself. I get the feeling that perhaps he has not always lived here in Cloister, and remembers what it feels like to be in a new place, far from home._

_I never thought that I would miss the taste of fish, but this place is far from the sea, and I miss the familiarity of it. When my year is up, and I return home, you and I will go fishing together, and I will gorge myself on what we catch. How I long for that day._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 54

_My dearest Kieran,_

_I am learning to ride a horse. Do you remember horses? Those are the mounts the people ride here. They are very tall creatures. A shorter one was found for me, but it is still strange to mount. He is a frightened thing, easily startled, and I think he can smell my blood and it frightens him more. But we are becoming accustomed to each other now. They do not understand our language as other creatures do, and it makes giving commands difficult. But he is learning and so am I._

_I am also being taught to shoot a bow, though I wouldn't claim that I am learning. They are despicable instruments, but the captain insists I try. I have seen the wrong end of the damned things too many times to be comfortable using them myself. It just seems like such a waste of a weapon! If I can't chop or slice or beat someone with it, really, what's the point? On top of that, well… You know my aim has always been bad, and I have never been one to do something I'm bad at._

_I'm sorry that I do nothing but complain in my letters. But I cannot begin to describe how different things are here. I miss you so much._

_Thank you for the dried fish with your last letter. I have been trying to use it sparingly, and still have a little left. I gave some to the eagle you sent it with; I figured he deserved a treat for carrying such a heavy load all this way. I wish you could have been here to see the faces of the other Guardians when he landed. We were all training, and they looked as surprised as if the sun itself had fallen to the earth._

_I have never felt such jealousy as when I watched him fly away from here and back to you._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 120

_My dearest Kieran,_

_You will get a good laugh out of this, but I now have a suit of armor. It took us some time to find a smith that would work for me—the prejudice against women here is staggering—but the man we found is being paid to craft armor for all of the guardians now, so he is being more than compensated for his willingness to help me. It is different than the thick plate the guardians wore when you were here. It is much lighter and only covers the vital areas, allowing for much greater range and speed of motion—which is why the guardians are acquiring such armor for themselves._

_Even so, adjusting to this added weight has been a great challenge for me. It is slowing me down, to the point where I cannot tell if the others are becoming better fighters or I am just becoming worse. The captain and Crawe and a few others have their armor now, and Crawe bested me in a fight today for the first time. The captain does not fight me. I think he is afraid to hurt me, and I wish I could tell him just how unlikely that is. I have seen him fight, and believe he would be quite a challenge. He is a good man, but he is too concerned with protecting me. He seems to think himself responsible for every one of the king's knights, and me most of all._

_I believe that is why I have yet to do anything with the Guardians worth writing to you about. Mostly I accompany the princess to wherever she needs to go. I have essentially become her personal guard, though I will not allow the king to name me as such. She is a lovely girl, and I am very fond of her; she is quick-witted and intelligent, desirous of adventure, and begs me constantly to teach her how to fight (the king forbids it, but I have been teaching her a few tricks in secret—he should know better than to ask a Kaerreggan to work as babysitter). Despite my fondness for the girl, escorting a princess from her bedchamber to her lessons and back is certainly not what I have been training my whole life to do._

_I cannot imagine what more I am to do to make this foolish king recognize me as a warrior, rather than a woman (I have given up hope of him ever seeing me as both). And there is still the underlying feeling that he does not see me as either of those things, that I am still nothing more than a monster to him, masquerading about and spying on his kingdom, reporting all of his weaknesses back to my monster friends. And so I am kept, close enough for him to keep an eye on me, and far enough that I cannot do much damage. By all accounts, I am made useless._

_How I long for home. The weather is growing warm here, which at first was the only welcome change from Kaerregg. But it already feels stifling to me, and they say it will only get hotter. At least in the cold, there are fires and furs to warm you. In this heat, there are only so many clothes I can remove, and any water I douse myself in is steamed away in minutes. I never thought I would miss the cold; but there is nothing I wouldn't do for a cool, dark cave right now, and friends to fill it. I miss you so._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 161

_My dearest Kieran,_

_I hate this place._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 163

_My dearest Kieran,_

_I decided that I should write some form of clarification for my last letter. I am not sure where to begin._

_We are well into the middle of summer here. The heat is tremendous. I do not know how our ancestors ever lived in such a place, before they fled to Kaerregg. I feel as if I am melting from the inside out, like a sheet of ice thrown atop a hot spring. There is no such thing as relief from this, with one exception: the rain, which is almost always accompanied by terrible storms, of which you know I am not fond._

_On top of that, this is already the longest I have ever kept this form, and I still have half a year to go before I can return home. My body aches constantly. I am always making an effort to keep my bones beneath my skin. I feel as if I could explode into a column of fire at any time, and wish I could do so just to put a stop to this pain. I have never felt such misery._

_Meanwhile, the king is just beginning to give me more responsibilities, which means more time lugging around this heavy armor and letting men beat on me in training. The captain and I are at each other's throats constantly, and I cannot begin to explain to him why my temper is so short or why I am less likely to obey than I have been before. He knows that I am keeping secrets from him. I can see he is disappointed in me, and his tolerance for my growing anger diminishes every day, and it feels as though there is nothing I can do. All of my free time is spent lying in bed, aching and praying for death._

_The tribe leaders have written me, claiming that my pain is exacerbated by this tremendous heat, and that it should become more manageable with the coming autumn months. I can only hope that they are right._

_In your last letter, you sent greetings from my father. I do not understand why he could not have written to me himself, attaching it to the letter I received from all of the leaders. I assume he is too busy to be bothered with such trifles; I doubt he reads my letters at all. Regardless, tell him something nice from me, will you? Pretend that I actually spent time thinking of kind words to say to him. I will admit, I miss everything about home so greatly that I have even begun to miss him as well. Don't tell him I said that. Tell him I've missed him from the start._

_Thank you, Kieran. If my body endures this miserable summer, it is only due to the hope of seeing you again._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 238

_My dearest Kieran,_

_I apologize for the delay between letters. I have been very busy lately, now that the king is allowing me to do my job. It feels so good to fight again, without those damned training swords, and even better now that Elmont no longer bothers asking me to use a bow._

_I only have time to write now because I have fallen ill. More accurately, I received an injury that became infected. Elmont is not allowing me to fight until the physician declares me fully healed, but the illness has been lingering and the wound refuses to close._

_I won't lie to you: it has been rather nice having some time off. The weather is beginning to cool as well, and I am feeling much better than I was in my last letter, despite my current injury. I spend much of my time with Princess Isabelle, or walking the streets of the city. The people living here are becoming accustomed to my presence, and do not stare at me as fervently as before. I no longer require accompaniment, which has allowed me to take as long as I want and go wherever I want._

_During my walks, I have noticed something that utterly confuses me. There are certain parts of this city that are set apart due to the wealth—or lack thereof—of their inhabitants. Everything here is reliant upon the exchange of currency; nothing is shared or given freely. The worst parts of the city, the ones with the least wealth, are where the whorehouses are located. Everyone who earns money in the city has to pay a tax—a portion of all currency gained is paid to the king and his government—and these women have to pay a greater tax than anyone else, despite the fact that these houses are the only places I've seen to take care of wealthless widows and orphans. The orphaned young are allowed to work, cooking and cleaning and washing, and from what I've seen are not allowed to sell themselves until they've reached a consenting age—at which point they are given the choice to stay or seek work elsewhere. In return, they are given a clean place to sleep and food to eat. The young and widowed are always fed with priority, even though there is not always enough food to go around._

_On top of this, the women do not always receive the care they should from physicians, nor do they receive the protection they should from the city knights. The men who come to them often mistreat them, and they say that the knights who visit often refuse to pay._

_I do not know what I can do, but I feel as though I must do something. I have saved some of the wages I earn as a guardian, and use that to buy food for the houses whenever I can—even if I just give them the money, the market vendors charge these women higher than others. It still feels as though I am only treating the symptoms of this strange inequity, but I do not know what more I could do._

_I have almost been here for a year, but it still feels so strange and foreign to me. I do not ache for home like I used to, but oh, how I long for it. I cannot wait to see you again._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 285

_My dearest Kieran,_

_Congratulations! Oh, Kieran, I cannot even describe the great joy I felt upon receipt of your last letter! The lady Tirave is a good woman, far better than you deserve. Give her my unending thanks for the new cloak; it is much thinner than my old one, and is exactly what I need for this warmer southern weather. Truly, her skill with cloth is unrivaled. I am so happy for you both, and shall be praying for your fertility until you write and tell me otherwise. Now I have yet another reason to long for home._

_But how dare you not tell me anything about it before now? I had no idea you were even courting Tirave, and the first I hear about it is when you are already mated? You terrible, careless boy, I'll never forgive you for this._

_In regard to your question, there certainly is nothing going on between the captain and I, thank you very much. He is a good fighter and an even better man, and I think we have become friends; but that is the absolute extent of it. I don't know where you even got the idea, but it's utter foolishness._

_I am feeling much better now, thank you, and have returned to my full duties. The women I told you about are beginning to trust me, and now know to send for me if anyone tries to leave without paying. They have found my axe to be a great incentive._

_The days are growing colder, and the day I may return home is drawing near. Every day seems a little brighter, with the light of seeing Kaerregg again._

_Draaga_

* * *

Day 347

_My dearest Kieran,_

_The day is almost here! This year is nearly at an end, and I am filled with relief. It could not have come at a better time. I fear I am beginning to forget our language, having no manner to keep it fresh in my mind except for these letters and my conversations with myself. I have forgotten the smell of the sea. I have forgotten the details of my father's face._

_My time in Albion has not been terrible, and I have made a few friends, whom I will surely miss when I return home. But that's just the point—this is not home. The house I live in is familiar and comfortable, but it is no cave. I long for the things I've known; for the simple comfort of eating a meal and recognizing everything on the plate; for the barks and screeches and growls of my people; for the ice beneath my feet and the bitter, cold air against my skin._

_The days feel infinitely long with my anticipation, but the wait is worth it. I will see you soon._

_Draaga_

* * *

Draaga dismounted the gray dire wolf, grinning up at the now-familiar gate to the crown city of the kingdom of Cloister. It had been so good to go home and revert to her other form; but, truth be told, she had missed Albion and its residents. Refreshed from her trip, she was glad to be back.

"_Thank you, little brother. That would have been a long, slow walk for me alone. I remain in your debt_," she murmured, scratching the wolf's muzzle, and he licked her face in reply, making her laugh. "_You are too sweet. I'll be fine from here. You should return to your pack; I know they're missing you_."

He licked her face once more, then turned and ran off toward the woods. She watched until he reached the trees, then swung her spear up and rested it across her shoulders, trudging across the bridge and through the gate into the city. As refreshing as her time home had been, the journey back had taken half as long as the first time she came here with the others, and she was exhausted. A few of the city knights called out to her, and she waved tiredly, making her way over to them slowly.

"Hello, boys," she called, feeling the accent heavy on her tongue. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?"

One man sneered at her. "We're perfectly capable of keeping the city safe without your 'help'."

Draaga frowned, sizing him up. She didn't recognize him; had he been one of the knights she'd thrown out of the women's houses for refusing to pay? Either way, she certainly wouldn't tolerate being spoken to in such a way. "Since you're not doing anything useful, go tell the king that I've returned."

"I don't take orders from _whores_," he spat.

She scowled, let the spear roll off her shoulders, pulled back, and punched him in the face. Her fist caught him in the jaw, and she thought she felt a tooth shake loose before he stumbled back, falling to the ground. She watched him for a moment to make sure he wouldn't get back up, but he only laid back, clutching his jaw and blinking up at her in shock. With a sigh, she crouched and picked her spear back up, resting it across her shoulders again. "Now, who wants to take my message to the king?"

The knights were quiet for a moment, before finally one young man stepped forward. "I'll tell him, Lady Draaga."

"Thank you, Jackson." He was an ambitious man, determined to become a guardian and willing to do whatever it took to get there. "Do you mind telling Captain Elmont as well? I've had a long journey."

"Of course, my lady."

"Thank you." She bowed her head, turned and walked away, diving into the busy city streets. Her little house was nearly on the opposite end of the city. It would be quicker to cut right through the middle of the city; but instead she took the long way around, following along the city wall. She had a stop to make first.

The streets were nearly empty; save for those rushing about to quickly finish errands, and the few huddled in doorways and between buildings, too poor even to have someplace to get in out of the cold. But these southern winters were as warm as summer in Kaerregg, and the weather felt like heaven to Draaga after her time at home. The snow covering the city streets melted away beneath her feet as the ground changed from stone to clay to dirt, and the buildings grew older and closer together. She skipped up the steps of the largest house on the dirtiest street, setting the base of her spear on the ground and knocking four times on the ancient door.

She leaned against the spear until the door swung open, revealing a tall, older, red-haired woman. "Draaga! Oh, darling, you're back! Come in, come in!"

Draaga smiled, shuffling in to the warmth inside. "Thank you, Rose. It's good to be back." She nodded to the women inside, lounging on lush couches and piles of cushions around a roaring fire. Rose gestured to a couch, offering her a seat, but Draaga shook her head no; she did, however, accept the mug of warm ale she was offered, taking a long draught. "How has everyone been?"

"We're doin' alright, Draaga. How was your trip?"

She propped her spear up against the wall, and then leaned against the wall herself, sighing tiredly. "It was lovely, thank you for asking. Have the girls been eating well?"

"No worse'n usual."

Draaga nodded. "I'll go to the market tomorrow, and bring some food by."

Rose laid an affectionate hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to do that; but we all greatly appreciate it. And Sarah, especially; we just found out that she's pregnant, about two months along."

"Is she?" Draaga took another draught of ale, a tired, goofy grin spreading across her face. She thought of Kieran and Tirave, newly mated; thought of the way the entire population of Kaerregg had waited with bated breath, praying for them to be blessed with a child, the first in over a decade; and thought of the look on Kieran's face when she set down on the ice of her homeland and he finally announced that their prayers had paid off, that Tirave was, indeed, pregnant, and that they had been waiting impatiently for her return before telling anyone. "That is wonderful news. I'll bring a physician by sometime this week, to make sure she's alright."

"You are too good to us, Draaga. Thank you. Now, you look mighty tired. D'you want to lie down for a while? We have plenty of clean beds."

"No, no," she shook her head with a smile, drowning the rest of the ale in a mighty gulp and heaving her body off of the wall. "Thank you, but I need to be on my way. Haven't even been home yet. I wanted to see you first."

Rose opened her mouth to say something; before she could, one of the other women called out from in front of the fire, "When are you going to stay the night with us, Draaga? We've all been dying to have you!"

A few other women called out in agreement, and the rest giggled. Rose put her hands on her hips and a fierce look on her face. "Don't you go teasing the Lady Draaga, now. She works with the knights; you think she doesn't hear this mess all day from all of them?"

"It's alright, Rose," Draaga told her, laughing. It was true, she heard much worse from both the guardians and the knights, who were all now well aware of the time she spent among the city's whorehouses; but it only made her immune to such words. "A night with you ladies would surely be one to remember, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass."

"That's right!" a different woman called out, leaning over the back of the couch she was sitting on with an enormous grin, "I hear she's sweet on that handsome Captain Elmont, and he's sweet on her!"

"W-what?!" Draaga spluttered, laughing at the absurdity of it. "Where on earth have you heard that nonsense?"

"Alright, that's enough," Rose demanded, displaying just as much authority and command as Elmont himself. "We'll hear no more of that. Lady Draaga is tired, and needs to get home."

Draaga shrugged and waved to the women, following Rose to the door, where the older woman put a gentle hand on her arm, leaning in close to murmur, "Don't you pay them no mind, Draaga. If they knew all you do for us—"

"And hopefully, they never shall," Draaga told her firmly. It didn't matter to her if the women knew where the food came from, so long as they continued to receive it. Rose was good and kind and wise, and distributed the food Draaga brought to all of the houses as they had need, and she was the only one who knew who brought it. "Thank you for the drink, Rose. I will see you soon."

"Take care, Lady Draaga."

"You too." Draaga stepped back out into the cold, pulling her cloak tighter as the wind whistled past her through the thin, winding streets. She kept her head low and her steps swift, hurrying home as quickly as possible.

Her little house was a welcome sight, and she went straight to the well outside, tossing a heavy stone down to break up the ice, and then lowering the bucket into the water and heaving it back up. She carried the bucket inside, balancing it and her spear and an armful of firewood she took from the pile beside her front door. Once a fire was crackling in the hearth, she scooped a bowl of water from the bucket, leaving the rest aside for drinking and cooking.

Reluctantly, she stripped off her clothes. It had been nice to dress again in the soft furs and leathers of her people; to take them off now felt like removing the last remnants of home. She warmed the water and washed herself quickly, scrubbing away the sweat and dirt she'd accumulated on her journey, and then unbound her braid and poured the remaining water over her head, letting it run through her hair.

She had just sat down to dry herself, sitting naked before the fire, when a knock came at her door. "One moment!" she called, hurrying to her small chest of clothes to shrug into a dressing robe, cinching the belt tightly around her waist. She hurried to the door, cracking it open and peering outside. "Princess Isabelle!" Draaga swung the door open, tugging the princess inside. "What on earth are you doing here? Where is your guard?"

"Please don't send me away!" the princess begged, her big, blue eyes wide and pleading. "I missed you _so much_, and when I heard you were back, I just had to see you!"

"Oh, I missed you too, darling. But please tell me you didn't sneak away from your guard…_again_?" At the sheepish look on the young woman's face, Draaga sighed, running a tired hand through her hair. Elmont would _not_ be pleased. "You cannot keep doing that, princess. The guardians are for your protection; you needn't make our jobs any harder."

"I know," she whined, and all of Draaga's strictness faded at the sight of her dejected look.

"…Well, perhaps it's a good thing. If we can't keep track of one princess, then I suppose we deserve to lose her every once in a while."

The princess grinned. "You mean I can stay?"

"Well, of course you can stay! I never said you couldn't." Isabelle beamed, throwing her arms around Draaga, who squeezed her tightly, laughing. The girl was still young, even by human standards, but she had already managed to surpass Draaga's height—a fact Crawe was fond of pointing out every time he saw them together.

"Tell me about your trip!" the girl demanded when she was let go.

Draaga laughed, gesturing down at herself. "Will you at least let me get dressed first? I really did just get home."

Isabelle laughed and nodded, making herself comfortable in front of the fire as Draaga returned to her chest of clothing. "Can I brush your hair?"

"Oh, I suppose so…" Draaga teased, hurriedly getting dressed. There were very few childish things the princess indulged in, but she had a certain fondness for playing with Draaga's hair. The white tresses were unruly and unmanageable, unreasonably long for a warrior of Draaga's skill and always getting in the way; but it was her favorite feature, the only source of vanity she had. Her hair was a remnant of that traumatic experience, a reminder that she had survived against all odds.

Isabelle was still brushing her hair when the second knock came, much later than they had been expecting it. The princess squeaked and ducked behind the couch to hide. With a deep sigh, Draaga stood, going to open the door and finding Captain Elmont on the other side, along with the guardians Peters and Skye. "Hello, boys. May I help you?"

Elmont had a stern look on his face, but his eyes turned soft and warm when he saw her, a corner of his mouth twitching up into a hint of a smile that made her pulse race. "Lady Draaga, it is good to have you back. But I'm afraid this isn't strictly a social call. We're looking for Princess Isabelle. Is she here?"

"As a matter of fact, she is," Draaga told him, stepping aside so that he could see, ignoring Isabelle's cry of protest from behind the couch. "And I will have you know, I had no part in her sneaking away and coming here."

"Oh, I am sure of that," Elmont murmured, nodding to the young woman peeking above the couch and fixing her with a stern look. "You are late for your lessons, princess."

"Oh, please don't make me go, Elmont!" Isabelle pleaded. "Draaga's been gone for so long. And it's only a history lesson! Draaga's been telling me about the history of Kaerregg, which is just as important to know as the history of Albion, don't you think?"

Elmont sighed, reaching up to smooth his mustache—a habit he had whenever conflicted. "…I suppose Lady Draaga's return is indeed an occasion to be celebrated… Very well. But the lesson must be made up tomorrow, princess."

"Of course! Oh, thank you, Elmont!"

He nodded with the air of a man who did not like what he was agreeing to. He glanced at Draaga, looking nearly as tired as she felt. "Make sure she gets back to the castle safely?"

"A-aren't you going to stay?" she asked, trying not to sound too eager. She gestured to the pot simmering above the fire. "Supper is almost ready, and there's too much for the two of us."

There was a strange look in his eyes when he turned to her, and she prayed he couldn't see the heat she felt rushing to her cheeks. "You're right, that would be best," he finally answered, and she was flooded with relief. He turned to the other guards. "Inform the king that Princess Isabelle is safe, and that Lady Draaga and I are with her. And inform Instructor Tarrant that she will not be attending her lesson this evening."

The two guardians nodded and turned, untying and mounting two of the three horses hitched to the well and heading off toward the castle, and Draaga ushered Elmont inside. "Would you like something to drink? I have water, and ale."

"Some ale, please," he requested, seating himself at her table.

She poured out a mug and set it before him, murmuring too lowly for Isabelle to hear, "Ale, captain? I thought this _wasn't_ a social call?"

"Not _strictly_," he said with a smirk and a wink, raising the mug to his lips. "Now, I thought we were discussing Kaerreggan history?"

"Oh, yes," Draaga laughed, walking back over to sit beside Isabelle on the couch, letting the girl continue brushing her hair. "We just covered the great exodus, when my people fled Albion, crossing the sea to the land we named Kaerregg, after the great leader, Kaerregg Draaga the Wise, with whom I share a name."

Draaga continued talking, telling them of the formation of the Sixteen Tribes, and how each tribe chose an individual to represent them among the leaders, and how all of the hundreds of living Kaerreggans were descended from those tribes. Meanwhile, Isabelle twisted and plaited her hair into an intricate, delicate little braid that looked pretty but would never hold up in a fight, and Elmont watched and listened, silently. His unwavering gaze on her made her uncomfortable, and she relished bringing her story to an end and ladling out three bowls of stew, just for the opportunity to turn her back on him and distract him from his staring.

The meal was a jovial one, as Isabelle and Elmont informed her of what she'd missed in her time away from Cloister. The captain tried to remain professional, but he obviously had a soft spot for the princess, and she was able to bring out his good humor better than anyone or thing Draaga had ever seen. It was refreshing to see him relax and unwind, and to see a smile on his handsome face.

They stayed late, long after the meal was done and the dishes were cleared, until Isabelle snuck away from the table to snooze on the couch. "I think we finally wore her out," Draaga teased at the first sound of snores drifting through her little home.

"_Finally_," Elmont laughed, taking a slow sip of ale. "Speaking of worn out, how are you feeling, Drae?"

She felt her face flush, as it always did when he used the nickname he'd given her—always when they were alone, or too far away from the other guardians for him to be overheard speaking to her with such familiarity. "I feel fine, really, Elmont. I had a long journey, and I'll sleep very well tonight, but I should be quite alright in the morning."

"That is good to hear. I am taking a team of men to the coastal city of Bocquet, the day after tomorrow. I would like for you to go with us, but only if you are feeling up to it."

"I certainly am, captain. I won't let you down."

His eyes seemed to shine in the dim light of the fire in the hearth and the few lanterns she'd lit, as he smiled at her. "I know you won't, Draaga. You never have."

She felt rooted to the spot, unable to pull her eyes from his, unable to breathe, made positively immobile by the soft intimacy of his voice and that glow in his eyes. She could have spent an eternity there, mapping out the vast depths of his eyes, were it not for a particularly loud snore from the direction of the couch that made them both jump and turn away.

"I should get her back to the castle," Elmont murmured with a smirk, downing the last of his ale and rising to his feet. "And I should let you get some sleep."

She hummed happily at the prospect. "Sleep sounds delightful right about now."

He chuckled, making his way over to the couch to rouse the snoozing princess, helping her to her feet and leading her by the hand over to the door. Draaga held the door open, the cold air that burst into the house shocking them all to a greater degree of alertness.

Draaga embraced Princess Isabelle, murmuring, "Thank you for coming to see me," into her ear and kissing the sleepy girl's cheek, watching with a smile as she trudged out the door and began untying the horse. She turned her gaze to the captain, who was staring at her again. "Goodnight, Elmont. Thank you for staying."

"Thank you for having me. I am very glad you're back." And then he reached up, brushing his thumb against her cheek with the lightest of touches, and pressing his lips against her forehead for the briefest of moments. "Sleep well, Drae. I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the open doorway with her jaw hanging open, wondering how in the world she was supposed to get any semblance of sleep with her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.


	4. The Journey to Bocquet

Author's Note: Hello, friends! I've got a double update for you guys today. This and the next chapter were originally intended to be all one chapter, but it got a bit long. I really am trying to keep these to more manageable sizes, though I'm apparently not very good at that. Anyway, I would love to hear what you guys think about these chapters! I tried very hard on them, so I hope you guys enjoy!

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Chapter Four: _The Journey to Bocquet_

They had been riding for four days. They were settling in for the night in a clearing in the woods that Draaga had spotted from the road. There was a thin layer of rapidly-melting snow on the ground. The air smelled thickly of wet earth, and was full of the sound of water running in the creek nearby. A fire crackled in the center of camp. The setting sun was bathing the sky in a wash of yellow and orange and pink.

And Peters was complaining. Again.

"Look, I'm not complaining, right? I'm just saying, it'd be nice to have something hot to eat, yeah?"

"You got a hot fire, and food to eat," Crawe snapped at the young guardian. "You want to combine 'em, shut yer mouth and do it."

Oren and Skye murmured their agreement; they'd all had more than enough of Sir Peters' whining. Elmont raised his eyes to glance around at his men. They were annoyed, certainly, but most too tired to do anything about it. Peters was always complaining about something, but he was originally from Bocquet and had claimed to know the way better than anyone. But he hadn't been home in years, and there had been many times over the past four days that Elmont had found himself thinking they should have left Peters at home.

It was Draaga's instinct that had brought them this far so quickly. She was an incredible asset on long journeys, despite the fact that she was foreign to Albion. She had some innate sense of the land, and perhaps an ability to see and hear and smell better than him or any of his men…though she became evasive whenever he tried to ask her about it. He knew she was keeping secrets from him—strange secrets that he couldn't even begin to guess at—but she was also one of the greatest guardians he had.

He turned his gaze to Draaga, sitting across the fire, sharpening her dirk with a scowl. She looked more annoyed and more tired than any of the others, and it filled him with guilt. Regardless of how much easier she'd made the journey, he shouldn't have asked her to come. God, she'd just returned from a long journey; what had he been thinking? Sure, he'd given her the choice, but he surely knew her well enough by now to know she'd never refuse a dangerous trip to a distant city.

She'd been quieter than usual the past few days, distancing herself from him and the others. He had gone too far. He shouldn't have kissed her that night…

"Captain?" He jolted to a start at the sound of her voice. "How many days until we reach Bocquet?"

"We should be there tomorrow," he answered, thrown by the question. "Why do you ask?"

With a huff, she stood to her feet, slipping the blade back into its place at her hip. She snatched up an empty bucket and tossed it to Peters, who fumbled and dropped it in his surprise. "Go and fetch some more water," she ordered, turning and heading out of the clearing where they'd set up camp, in the opposite direction of the road.

"W-what?" Peters spluttered.

"Where do you think _you're _going?" Elmont shouted after her, jumping to his feet.

"To find something hot to eat," she muttered bitterly, just barely loud enough for him to hear. "Why, do you want to come along?" she called over her shoulder before disappearing into the trees.

"That woman is going to be the death of me. Crawe, you're in charge," he instructed, and then rushed off after her. "Draaga!"

When he found her, she was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and a smirk on her face, waiting for him. "If you're coming with me, you can't make so much noise."

"Yeah, well _you_ can't just go running off like that, Draaga," he snapped. "You don't know what's in these woods."

She snorted, turning on her heel and walking off again. "_You_ don't."

"Don'twalk away from me!"

She whirled to face him, surprise evident on her face, but it quickly turned into a snarl. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He stalked up to her, using his height to loom over her. "Now, I know you're tired, but—"

"I'm _fine_," she spat.

"Good! Then quit acting like such a…"

"A _what_? Go on, say it; I know you've been dying to—"

"A _bitch_!" Her eyes narrowed, and her fist shot up, catching him in the jaw; his teeth clacked together, and he stumbled back a step. He popped a joint in his neck. "You wanna fight? Is that it? Fine." He punched her right back.

He could see the surprise flash in her eyes as she reeled back from the blow. He was pierced with guilt, and almost apologized; but then she caught her footing, her face set in a fierce glare, and she ran at him, tackling him to the ground. She was a great fighter; but he'd been watching her fight since she first came to Albion, and he knew all her tricks. Her quickness couldn't help her in such close combat, and she was small, light, and easy to throw around—which is just what he did. He caught her in the stomach and threw her off, and when she caught herself and ran at him again, he was ready for her.

He grabbed her arm and pulled; her feet slid in the wet ground, and she fell on top of him. He rolled over, pinning her down beneath the weight of his body and armor. She struggled, swinging her free hand at him, clawing and banging at his breastplate, writhing and lurching until she threw him off, snarling and hissing in her strange, vicious language. He kept his grip on her arm, pulling her to him and thrusting his free hand between her shoulder blades, forcing her facedown into the dirt. He dug his knee into the small of her back, keeping her there, and tugged her arm back sharply, making her cry out in pain. She tried to kick him, but couldn't bend her legs back far enough to reach.

He snatched up her cloak and pulled, tugging her neck back harshly; and then wrapped it around the arm he had a hold of, grabbed the other hand that was frantically trying to dig into his flesh, wrapped the fabric around both her elbows, and then bound her wrists together, tying it off with a quick knot. He flipped her over onto her back and sat straddling her thighs, to make certain she couldn't kick him. She reared up at the waist, baring her teeth and snarling; but he gripped her shoulders and forced her back to the ground, pinning her down. He loomed over her, leaning in close enough to feel her hot, ragged breaths against his skin. "_Enough_," he growled.

She struggled beneath him, testing to see if she could still get free, but he wouldn't let up. Sighing deeply through her nose, she screwed her eyes shut and laid back, muttering what he assumed were curses in her coarse language. When she opened her eyes again, all the fight had gone out of them. "Enough," she repeated softly, eyes averted, deliberately not looking at him.

"Good. Now you listen to me, _Draaga_. I told you from day one, you don't get to be treated special because you're a woman. You don't get to be treated special because you're a good fighter. And you sure as Hell don't get to be treated special because you're my…" he hesitated. She blinked, glancing up at him curiously. "…Because you're my friend." Her eyes grew wide, and she looked away again, biting her bottom lip. "I am your _captain first_, before anything else. And you _listen_ to me, and you _obey_ my orders, and you _don't go running off_ into the _goddamn woods_! Now I know English isn't your first language, so _do you understand me_?"

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and he could see her nostrils flare in anger; but she bit back her pride and answered, "I do."

"Good. And _you_ will _never_ _hit me_ again. You understand that, too?"

She swallowed, and looked up at him, her expression full of…shame? "I do," she breathed.

He released her shoulders and sat back on her legs, still doubtful that she wouldn't try to fight him again. But she only rolled her shoulders and sat up as well, bringing her sweaty, dirt-smeared, flushed face within inches of his, her chest pressing against his breastplate. Her brown eyes watched him from under lowered lashes, and he saw the tip of her tongue dart out to lick her dark, full lips. He cleared his throat and rose to his feet, pacing away from her.

When he turned back to face her, she was grunting and squirming, struggling against the cloak around her arms and wrists like an animal caught in a trap. He strode over, knelt behind her and pulled the knot free, unwinding the fabric from around her wrists. She tugged her arms free, stretched, and rubbed her wrists. He stood and stepped away from her again. "Are you hurt, Draaga?"

She rose to her feet slowly, and glanced at him over her shoulder. "Only my pride."

Elmont sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "So… You said we were going to find food?"

She turned to him, brow raised in surprise. "We're still going? Even after..?"

"I just would like you to ask me before you go running off, alright? But yes, we're still going. I'd do anything to get Peters to shut up."

She chuckled softly, though it was obviously strained, and ran her fingers along her braid, picking out a few of the twigs and leaves that had gotten stuck there in the tussle. "Okay. It's, uh… We should go this way."

He followed her deeper into the woods, wondering (only half-jokingly) if she was leading him further from camp in order to kill him and hide his body. He really shouldn't have kissed her.

He thought, for the thousandth time, of the night she'd returned, and how he hadn't realized how much he'd missed her until seeing her again. She had seemed so…_soft_ that night, answering the door of her little home dressed in loose pants and an emerald green sweater, with her long, white hair hanging loosely in thick waves, a gentle smile on her face. And then she had invited him in to stay, and he knew he should say no, but everything about her and her home had seemed so warm and inviting that the words coming out of his mouth weren't the ones he'd meant to say. He'd spent the whole night fighting to keep from touching her, and when he left, his hands and lips had betrayed him.

He was her captain; she was his knight. No special treatment, he'd told her. So how was he possibly supposed to justify kissing her? He had never kissed Crawe, or any of the others, even on the forehead. Sure, there weren't any rules against it—there'd never been a woman knight before, so such a thing had not been an issue—but it was still inappropriate, and he knew it was, and he'd known that when he'd done it.

But she was just so…_alluring_. Not the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but she was undeniably attractive, in a way he had never experienced before. She sort of lumbered when she walked, and rode a horse very poorly; but she swung an axe with more grace than the finest dancer. She was brave and bold—and also too arrogant and aggressive for anyone's good, especially her own, though at times he found even her pride to be as attractive as it was infuriating. She was friendly and compassionate to the guardians and knights (so long as they did not call her a whore), always willing to help with training or to wash the clothes of unmarried knights (so long as she was asked kindly). Whenever she spoke of her homeland—which she only did when asked, and that wasn't often—her eyes lit up with unrepressed joy; though when she finished, he saw and recognized the boundless sorrow that welled up inside her and made her quiet and distant for at least the rest of the day.

She was strong always, reticent often, and usually grumpy, cold, and detached; but sometimes he caught a glimpse of her softness, and it only made him fonder of her. And Princess Isabelle adored her, which spoke greater volumes of her character than anything else he'd ever seen.

How was he possibly supposed to _resist_?

She froze so suddenly, focusing on something she'd seen or heard in the distance, that he would have walked right into her if it weren't for her hand against his chest to stop him. "Wait here. Keep quiet," she whispered, barely more than a breath. In a silent flash of brown skin and white hair and gray cloak, she was gone, her booted feet making no noise over the snow and dead leaves and damp earth.

He waited, not moving or speaking or even breathing, trying to listen for Draaga or at least whatever she had heard. For several moments, he heard nothing but the wind through the trees and the rustling of leaves and the rushing water. The whole world seemed peaceful and still…

And then he heard something heavy hit the ground, and the trampling of hooves; five deer rushed by, skidding when they spotted him and taking off in a different direction, too frightened to even run at him. Heart pounding, Elmont hurried forward to make sure she was alright.

He heard her before he saw her, speaking softly in what he now recognized as her native tongue. He followed the sound of her voice, and found her kneeling on the ground beside the body of a dead deer, her dirk buried in its neck. She finished speaking, closed the creature's eyes, and tugged her blade free. As if emerging from a daze, she looked up and around before settling her gaze on him. "Oh. There you are."

Hesitantly, he stepped forward. That very well could have been his neck, had she thought to reach for any of the number of blades she kept on her person—the dirk on her hip, or the dozens of smaller knives and daggers that she kept tucked beneath her clothes in places he tried (and God, did he try) very hard not to think about too often—when they had been fighting. He wouldn't have been able to draw his sword in such close combat. Had she let him win? Had she been too honorable to draw a weapon in a fistfight? Or had she just been too angry with him to remember that she was armed? With Draaga, it was difficult to tell.

"Are you going to do that here?" he asked as she began to gut and skin the creature where it lay. "We should carry it back to camp first."

She shook her head no, not looking up at him. "There are wolves nearby," she told him as if commenting on the weather. "They've been following us since we entered the forest. We will take only enough to get us to Bocquet and back to Cloister, leave the rest for them, and they will not bother us. If we take it back to camp, they will come for it."

Elmont could only stare at her, incredulous. "How—how—how do you do that? How do you _know_ things like that?"

She glanced up at him for a second before looking back at her work, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I just know." She slipped her cloak over her neck and laid it out, placing the cuts of meat in the center. When she was finished, she sat back, wiping the bloody dirk clean on the already-soiled cloak, and then slipped it back into its place on her hip. She tied the corners of the cloak together and stood, throwing it over her shoulder. "It's getting dark. We should head back."

He glanced up at the sky, now painted in deep red and purple, and then back down at his companion. "You are so strange."

But he followed her anyway as they headed back to camp, mostly because he had no idea where they were or how to get back (though he would never admit it), and could only hope that she did. She was silent, and would not look at them as they walked. He should never have kissed her…

When they returned to camp, the sight of fresh meat was enough to shut Peters up for the rest of the night. Draaga cut some of it up to be cooked into a stew. The rest was salted and laid out beside the fire to dry.

When all that was done and the stew was simmering, Draaga folded up her cloak and stood, stepping over to where Elmont was sitting, stirring the stew. "Captain?" she asked softly. "May I go to the river to wash?"

He looked up at her, startled. Honestly, he hadn't actually expected her to listen to him, nor ask for his permission. "Are you sure? This is almost ready; don't you want to wait until after you've eaten?"

She held up her hands; aside from being covered in dirt from their fight, they were also now smeared with blood. "I'd rather not."

He nodded, glancing up at the sky. He was beginning to see the first stars coming out. "Alright. But be quick, and be careful. It'll be dark soon."

"Yes, captain."

Oren called out to her as she was trudging off toward the river, "I'll come and keep ya company, Lady Draaga!"

Without turning around, she slid the axe from her hip and swung it high above her head for him to see. "You try to catch a glimpse of me bathing, it'll be the last thing you ever see!"

With a low whistle, Oren folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against a tree. "That would be a death worth dying, if I ever heard o' one."

She returned quickly, as promised, looking clean and content, without a drop of blood on her cloak or a smudge of dirt on her face. She hung the cloak beside the fire to dry. They had already begun eating, but there was still plenty left for her, and everyone agreed to give her the biggest share since she was the one who found and killed it.

Peters had been little more than a whining child, but he was right about one thing: it _was _nice to have a hot meal, and the stew made the stale bread and cheese they'd been eating a good deal more palatable. Bellies full and warm, and with Peters' newfound silence, they all fell asleep quickly, with contented grins on their faces.

That night, Elmont dreamt of Draaga, her arms tied together, panting, sweating, and squirming beneath him, but not from any fight.


	5. The Storm

Author's Note: Aaaand here's the second chapter of today's dual update! Please go back and check out chapter 4 if you missed that one; I uploaded it right before I posted this one! I don't really have much else to say about this chapter, except that I've been dying to write it since I first thought of the character and story! Please review and enjoy!

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Chapter Five: _The Storm_

Bocquet had been a pleasant city to visit, but Elmont was relieved to be heading toward home again—though the two companions they'd gained in Bocquet were adding plenty of unwanted tension to the trip. Lord Roderick was a pompous ass, but seemed harmless enough. However, his personal guard, Sir Wicke, was a shifty, weasel-looking character who had firmly entrenched himself on Draaga's bad side from the very beginning. As soon as he'd laid eyes on her, he'd said, "I heard the rumors that the Cloister Guardians brought their own whore with them, but I didn't think we'd be lucky enough to get her for this trip!"

It took a great deal of coercing to keep her from slitting his throat on the spot, and things had only gotten worse as they traveled along, with Wicke making lewd comments whenever he had the chance and Draaga showing a tremendous amount of restraint in not burying her axe in his skull. If the man weren't working for King Brahmwell's future advisor, Elmont would have let her.

They had ridden for two days since Bocquet, and were about halfway back to Cloister when Draaga rode up beside him and warned, "There's a big storm coming, Captain. We should try to find shelter."

He looked up at the sky, spotting a large, dark cloud looming on the horizon. "It's headed this way? Are you sure? How do you know?"

Her eyes were trained on the cloud, but she still smirked. "I just know," she muttered.

"Alright. Keep a lookout for someplace for us to stay." She nodded, guiding her horse as far away from Wicke as possible.

Sure enough, it soon began to rain, and then began to pour. "Draaga?" Elmont called over the pelting rain. "Any luck?"

She reined up her horse and hesitated for a moment, then closed her eyes as if…listening? "There!" She pointed east. "Sounds like a barn, and a farm house."

Elmont nodded, spurring his horse in the direction she was pointing, as the rest followed. Lord Roderick rushed up beside him. "I-I'm sorry, did she say _'sounds_ like'?"

Elmont glanced at him, trying very hard not to glare, and shrugged. "Lady Draaga just knows things. Look." He nodded forward, where the outline of a barn could just barely be seen through the thick rain. Lightning lit the sky and thunder boomed, illuminating both the barn and the little house beside it, just as Draaga had claimed.

The farmer and his wife were kind and gracious and more than willing to allow the guardians to wait out the storm and stay the night in their barn, in return for some of their venison. Lord Roderick gave them ten pieces of silver to let he and Wicke stay in the house and in beds instead of on piles of hay with the animals in the barn. Elmont was just glad not to have a repeat of last night, when their sleep had been interrupted by Wicke's attempt to sneak into Draaga's bed; it had ended with Wicke's screaming and Crawe's fervent assurances that he'd kill the "little weasel man" if he didn't leave her alone and stop making so much noise.

They all hurried into the barn as the storm grew worse, tying up, feeding, and watering the horses. The farmer's wife brought out a pot of stew to them, much heartier and more flavorful than what they'd been able to make on the road. Elmont spooned it out into bowls and passed it around to his men, but… "Wait, where's Draaga?"

"Dunno what the Hell she's doin'," Oren muttered, "but she's over there." He pointed further into the barn, where Draaga was sitting on the ground with her knees tucked beneath her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs, leaning back against the stall that housed two dairy cows.

Elmont sighed heavily, wondering if that damned woman would ever begin to make sense. "Fine, then…" He spooned out another bowl and, running a hand through his hair, walked it over to her. "Here. You hungry?"

"Thanks," she muttered, not making eye contact. When she reached out to take the bowl from him, he saw that her hands were shaking. She didn't eat or even look at the food, instead cradling it against her chest, as though it might protect her.

Elmont crouched down beside her. "Drae, what is it? You can tell me."

She was silent for a long time, and he began to doubt that she would answer. But then her eyes flicked to him for a split second, and she muttered something that sounded like, "_Mafredstums_."

"…What?"

Another peal of thunder crashed; she visibly jumped, and screwed her eyes shut. "_I'm afraid of storms_," she hissed.

Elmont coughed to stifle a laugh, and she shot him a fierce glare. He'd never seen anyone _eat_ aggressively before, but there was no other way to describe the way she shoved a spoonful of stew into her mouth. "…Oh."

"Shut up," she muttered.

"No, I… I didn't… I'm not laughing at you." Thunder cracked again, and she jumped, and the pitiful look of fright on her normally fierce face was just about the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. Had he really never been with her during a storm before, in the whole year she'd been in Albion? Now that he thought about it, she did always seem to disappear at the first sight of rain. "Drae, look, it's alright, okay? It's not going to hurt you." He reached over, tucking a lock of hair that had fallen free from her braid behind her hair. She leaned into the touch, her wide eyes settling on him for a moment before screwing shut again. Elmont glanced back over his shoulder, and saw that the rest of the guardians were watching them closely while pretending not to be. He sighed, knowing this was a bad idea, that he shouldn't even be considering it; but she just looked so very afraid. He'd seen her injured, and ill, and angry, and sad, but he'd _never_ seen her afraid. "Listen, Draaga… If this goes on into the night, after the others have fallen asleep, you can… You can come and sleep by me, if that will help. Alright?"

She stared at him, chewing on her bottom lip. "Thank you," she murmured, dropping her gaze to the bowl in her hands.

He nudged her chin with a smirk, managing to get the corner of her mouth to quirk up in what was almost a smile. "Take care, Drae." He stood and turned away from her, heading back over to the fire to eat with the others.

"What's her problem?" Skye asked as soon as he sat down.

For a second, Elmont panicked. He couldn't tell the men that she was afraid of a little thunder, or they would never leave her alone. He couldn't do that to her. "Women's troubles." The lie felt bitter on his tongue; Draaga's gender had never caused a problem in any of her duties, with the exception of the one time she was shot by an arrow in the breast and had refused to let any of the men help her clean and dress it. By the time they had returned to Cloister and gotten her to see a physician, the wound had been badly infected and she'd needed to take several weeks off. But the men accepted the lie without question—and with more than a few chuckles.

The storm did, in fact, continue on into the night, and Draaga did not move from her spot as Elmont and the rest of the men set up their bedrolls and settled in for the night. Thus he was only marginally startled when he was woken from his sleep by something rummaging against him. He groaned and peeled his eyes open, finding his vision full of a mass of fluffy, white hair.

"Draaga..?" Thunder crashed overhead, and she tensed and pressed closer to him with a whimper. "Okay, okay, easy there. I gotcha." He rolled over, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. God, she was warm. "I gotcha."

She was silent for a long time, burying her face in his chest and clinging to him. He was just drifting off to sleep when she spoke, her voice small and soft and shaking, "I was struck once."

It took his sleepy brain a long time to understand what she was saying. "…You were…struck by lightning?"

She nodded, her hair tickling his neck and chin. "It turned my hair white. It's why I… I don't like storms."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, Drae. It's alright." Another peal of thunder crashed, louder and closer than before, and she squeaked and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He tensed at the contact of her skin against his; but she was shaking so badly that he had no choice but to relax and hold her tight. "Shh, it's alright, shh… I've got you. I'm not going to let anything hurt you."

* * *

He didn't know when either of them fell asleep—and the fact that she had plagued all of his dreams since their fight only complicated matters, since he couldn't tell what had been dreamt and what had actually happened (though he had a pretty good idea of certain things that _hadn't_ actually happened). When he woke, the sun was rising, and Draaga wasn't in his arms anymore, though the ground where she'd been sleeping was still warm.

They rode hard that day, trying to make up for the time they'd lost while waiting out the storm. Lord Roderick joined Peters in complaining about the pace, but Elmont was beyond caring.

Draaga wouldn't look at him, and did not speak to him—or anyone else—unless prompted, though whether out of shame or regret he couldn't quite figure out. He felt like such a fool.

He wanted to keep riding through the night and reach home as soon as possible, but the horses were exhausted and so were his men, so he had no choice but to let them stop and set up camp.

That night, after everyone had fallen asleep, Elmont was once again awakened by the feeling of something against him. He opened his eyes and squinted. "...Draaga? What are you doing?"

"Shut up," she muttered, settling in beside him for the second night in a row.

"_What?_ I… It's not even raining!"

She grunted. "I'm cold, you're warm, and Wicke is getting handsy again. Shut up."

He was too tired to question her or try to understand what in the world she was doing. So he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close and fell back to sleep.


	6. As Long as it Takes

Author's Note: Hello again, friends! I'm sorry this chapter took so long. Some of you know that I've been crazy busy lately with the end of the school year, but you'll be pleased to know that I finished my undergrad and graduated on Saturday! I'll still be working, but I'll have much more time to focus on writing now! Well, at least until I start grad school... I am a glutton for punishment.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! I think you will. Also, I wanted to mention that, in this chapter, I've given Elmont's first name as John, with permission from the lovely and amazing **SerendipityAEY** (if you're interested in Jack the Giant Slayer/Elmont and you haven't read her story Between Heaven and Earth, I really don't know what you're doing with your life. It makes this look like a rambling mess).

I'm sorry this chapter is so long! I want to cut back on these a bit, but there was a lot that I wanted to cover here. Also, I still have (at least) two more chapters planned before we even get into the movie storyline, so as much as I am dying to give you guys a million short chapters of Draaga and Crawe being bffs and Draaga and Elmont being awkwardly in love with each other and afraid to say anything, I have got to move this along.

I can't even tell you guys how much I've missed you lately. I firmly believe that I have the best readers in the world. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Six: _As Long as it Takes_

"You need not imitate me exactly, Princess. Stand however is most comfortable for you."

Isabelle brought her feet a little closer together, and stood a little taller, narrowing her eyes at Draaga. "I am to copy you, but not exactly? How will I know if I'm doing it right?"

Draaga smiled, settling into a low crouch. "If you're wrong, I will correct you. But I am teaching you to fight, not to fight like me. The ways of Kaerregg are not your ways." At the girl's annoyed sigh, Draaga's grin broadened. "Don't worry so much! This is a skill to be developed, not perfected. Every fight is different, and every fighter is different. I can show you the basics, but you must make them your own. Now, enough talk; come and hit me."

The princess's attacks were fiercer this time, fueled by her annoyance; but they were also more precise, now that her limbs were freed to move as she desired instead of how she thought Draaga would move them. The Kaerregg warrior's grin broadened further even as she worked harder to deflect the blows, pleased at how far her little friend had come in such a short time. There was more—far more—to this princess than meets the eye.

She had been learning that for some time now. Ever since… Since Bocquet, she had been having difficulty sleeping, for the first time in over a year. At home, in Kaerregg, she slept surrounded by friends and loved ones, all in a nest or pile in the deep caves to conserve heat. Sleeping beside Captain Elmont had been a curious reminder that brought an ache to her heart, and now she found it a challenge to sleep alone. When she was traveling with the Guardians, she would wait until the others were asleep and then creep over to Elmont's side. He usually slept on his front, and she'd done it so often that now she had only to roll him gently and crawl beneath his arm, and he would pull her close and hold her through the night until she woke, long before anyone else so they would not be seen together.

But back in Cloister, things were different. She had attempted to make a nest of her own, hoarding as many pillows and cushions as she could afford to buy and piling them high in the alcove of her bed at home. Even so, pillows couldn't quite replicate the feeling of a warm body beside you, and most nights she found herself wide awake and…lonely.

The first night she'd left her home and gone to the castle had been a painful lesson in humility; but, even woken from sleep in the middle of the night, Isabelle had been sweet and kind and gentle, letting Draaga into her chambers and her bed without any teasing. Isabelle was a clever girl, though, with a voracious appetite for knowledge and stories, so they had come to an agreement: if Draaga came in and woke her up, she would have to tell her something new about Kaerregg until the young princess fell asleep. She was beginning to run out of (age-appropriate) stories.

Her thoughts were a distraction, and Isabelle's blunt, wooden sword caught her in the ribs with enough force to knock the air from her lungs and force her back a step. The princess looked mortified, but Draaga only grinned, laughing as soon as she was able to catch her breath.

"Well done, Princess!" Crawe called, making both women turn to look at him. They had quite an audience; Elmont and Crawe were to oversee the princess's lessons (it was the only way the king would allow his daughter to be taught at all), and of the guardians not currently on duty, most were standing around to watch as well. The men all applauded and encouraged the princess, except for Elmont, who merely watched silently, a fond grin softening his normally-stern features.

"Draaga? Did I hurt you?"

The princess's concern was touching, although unnecessary. "You did indeed. Well done!" Draaga laughed again, settling back into a defensive stance. "Come, let's see if you can do it again!"

They sparred some more, under the watchful eye of the captain and guardians. Isabelle had become less aggressive, more cautious, as if afraid of causing any more pain. "Don't do that. Don't try to go easy on me," Draaga panted, dodging a wild swing. "You'll never learn that way. And you know what I am. You're not going to hurt me."

It was the scent that caught Draaga's attention first, the familiar smell of sea and smoke and snow. Then came the undeniable sound of the beat of heavy wings. She caught the blunt blade of the princess's sword in her free hand, muttered, "Hang on," and looked up into the pale blue sky. The shadow of the enormous bird passed over her, and the eagle landed in the training field beside her with a great, piercing screech.

Spotting the piece of parchment tied to the bird's leg, Draaga let her sword fall to the ground, took a step back, and dropped down to one knee. "_Thank you, sister. You have come a long way for me_." The eagle shuffled forward, allowing Draaga to untie and remove the letter. "_Just a letter? No package?_" The only time her friends had sent her an eagle, it had been loaded down with more dried fish than she could eat in a week. But the bird bobbed its head quickly in a nod. "_Must be urgent, then…_" Another nod.

Draaga stood slowly, unrolling the letter. It bore her father's seal, but the handwriting was not his. She scanned the contents of the letter quickly, her blood turning cold in her veins though her heart was pounding faster than ever. Her breaths became shallow; it felt as if her insides had turned to stone, and she struggled to get enough air.

"…Milady?" Crawe called, hesitantly. It was a foolish, teasing nickname he had for her that was usually nothing more than a minor annoyance; but now, in light of this, it set her teeth on edge. Just like that, the stone inside her ignited into a fearsome wildfire.

"DO NOT CALL ME THAT!" she _roared_ at him, nearly changing right then and there, in front of all of these people. Immediately, she clapped her hands over her mouth as everyone drew back from her—even Isabelle. She blinked, surprised to find that her eyes stung with tears, and the fire inside her extinguished immediately, leaving her hollow and empty and alone. "Crawe, I'm—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean… I didn't… I'm so sorry, I just—I need…" She trailed off, spinning in circles, trying to think, trying to understand. "I need a pen!" she cried out, much louder than necessary.

The eagle rummaged through her own plumage for a moment before producing a single, loose feather and holding it out to her. Draaga took the feather from its beak, muttering her gratitude in their language. Drawing a knife from her belt, she trimmed the tip in one swift flick and then dragged the blade along her open palm, too numb to feel the sting. With shaking hands, she scrawled out a short reply in her own blood at the bottom of the parchment, beside her father's seal, and ripped it off, tying it back to the bird's leg.

"_Please, take this back to them. I'm sorry I cannot allow you to rest_." The eagle nudged her beak against Draaga's cheek, then nuzzled into her hair, giving comfort she did not deserve. "_Thank you, sister. Be safe._" Draaga placed a kiss to the arch of the bird's beak, then stood back as she spread her wings and returned to the air, heading for home…where Draaga would be following soon enough.

Draaga wrapped her arms tightly around herself, clutching the remains of the letter to her chest, trying to stifle the panic that was clawing its way up her throat. This couldn't be happening, not now…not ever!

The next thing she knew, a heavy hand was on her shoulder, and Captain Elmont's voice drifted to her as if from a very long way away. "Crawe, take over for Lady Draaga… _You_," the hand gripped her shoulder tighter, pulling her forward, guiding her where to go, "Come with me."

Draaga let him steer her to wherever they were going, not paying attention to anything at all until he finally released her. Blinking, she looked around what appeared to be someone's home, with a hearth and kitchen, dining table and chairs, a couch and a high-backed chair all readily visible. At one wall, she saw stairs leading up to what she assumed was the bedroom. This house was a good deal bigger than her own, and from the ease with which Elmont strode to the hearth and began building a fire, she realized this was his home, the captain's quarters near the guardians' barracks.

Draaga began to pace the length of the sitting room, still trying to wrap her mind around all that the letter had entailed. She had no idea how long she'd been at it before Elmont suddenly filled her vision, grabbed her by the shoulders, and guided her backwards until her knees hit something solid and she fell back onto the couch. "Let me see your hand," he demanded.

She held out her fist, clutching the now-crumpled note tightly, confused and wondering why he would want to see it. "It's written in my language, you cannot read it."

He gave a tired sigh. "The other hand, Draaga."

She took a moment to remember why her other hand was important, before the scent of fresh blood caught her attention. "Oh. Right." She opened her free hand to him, wincing in pain. Her entire hand was covered and dripping with blood. Elmont disappeared for a moment, and then returned with a basin of hot water and plenty of rags. He washed her hand gently, then poured alcohol over the cut, holding her hand steady as she writhed and squirmed to get away from the stinging pain. It hurt too badly; in her frenzy, she had cut too deep. He wrapped her wound tightly with bandages and then finally released her, and she cradled her now-throbbing hand against her chest.

"Drae," he murmured gently, not moving from where he knelt before her on the floor, "What did the letter say?"

She took a deep, shaking breath. "My father is dying."

"Oh, Draaga, I'm so sor—"

"No, no, no, that's not…" She shook her head dismissively, cutting him off, then laughed at the thought of some human feeling sorry for the death of the eldest Draaga. "You're sweet, but that is not the problem. My father is a leader of my people. When he dies, someone will have to take his place."

"Oh. And that someone will be you?"

"_Oh_, God, I hope not…" she sighed, turning away from his compassionate, blue eyes and staring determinedly at the wall. "I really hope not. There are others, members of the line of Draaga, who could do it, but I must return home, let the council decide… I must see the king!" she suddenly realized, jumping to her feet and turning to go, but Elmont caught her and eased her back down to the couch.

He moved to sit next to her, keeping his hands on her, holding her in place. "No, not yet. Just take a deep breath. Relax. Talk to me. Then I'll take you to him." Draaga turned, pressing her face into his shoulder and taking the prescribed deep breath. "Better?" he asked softly, turning to her and pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms loosely around her. She nodded in response, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, allowing herself to relish in the comfort for just a moment longer. "Good. So what happens if the council chooses you?"

She pulled back, afraid to touch his skin any longer, hanging her head so she didn't have to meet his eyes. "Then I stay in Kaerregg, learn as much as I can from my father while he still lives and…care for him, if he wishes it. And then I take his place when he is gone until I also die."

He was silent for a long time, and she wondered what he was thinking but couldn't bring herself to look. "And what of your treaty with Cloister? Will someone else be sent to…replace you?"

She felt ill at the way he hesitated, but forced herself to focus on his question. "That is…doubtful. My people care very little for Cloister and it was…" She swallowed, trying to think of a way to phrase it, not wanting to admit how vehemently she had fought for this wretched, savage little land. "It was only at my urging that a treaty was even considered, and more for your benefit than for ours, to ensure that your people knew we mean you no harm. I have been here for over two years now; in light of the circumstances, my council will consider that long enough for this arrangement, though the treaty will still stand. And my father has…quite a position of authority on the council. If I replace him, I assure you that Kaerregg and Albion will never be at war so long as I still live."

"And if you don't? Even if you aren't chosen, will they still think you've been here long enough? Will you… Will you come back?"

"Perhaps. I don't know." She pulled her hand away from her chest and glared at her palm, running the fingers of her other hand along the white bandage. "As a fighter, I can be of much more use here. Kaerregg rarely goes to war any more, and there has not been a fight among my people in a hundred years. But with my father gone, I am…the only surviving member of my family. Whatever their decision, the council will likely wish me to stop fighting, to cease putting my life at risk, to…settle down. Have children, or at least try." She broke off abruptly at the thought. It was ridiculous, too much pressure, too much responsibility to pile upon the youngest member of the entire line of Draaga, the task of rebuilding her family now that they were all gone or soon to be. She was so lost in her thoughts and fears that she almost missed what Elmont said next.

"What do you _want_ to do?"

She barked a laugh, finally looking up at him and meeting his eyes, thinking that he couldn't possibly be serious. "The council will hardly care what I _want_ to do—"

"_I_ care," he said firmly, and she could see in his eyes that he meant it. She tore her eyes away.

"What do I…want? I… I want to stay here!" she cried out, biting her tongue in shame. It made her feel frightened and traitorous, but it was true. "I-I am a warrior. I am not a-a-a-a _mother_, or a _leader_! I do not know anything about…_ugh_, what are your words? P-politics, or—that other one…diplomacy! That's not what I… I can't do it! I am not my brother!" As soon as the word left her mouth, she regretted it, pulling as far away from Elmont as possible, as quickly as possible.

"You have a brother? I thought you said—"

"I _had_ a brother." She felt like she was going to be sick, wanting nothing more than to jump to her feet and run away from this place. He was the _last_ person she wanted to speak to about _him_. But Elmont still had his hands around her waist, and one glance at him and the expression on his face assured her of his concern, his compassion—he was _trying_ to give her the comfort she was rejecting. And he didn't know any better, didn't know why this was so painful.

She sighed and rested her forehead on the heel of her wounded hand, threading her fingers into her hair. "He was older than me, my parents' firstborn. My father was already a prominent leader, his position bolstered by the birth of a son. Children are…a rarity among my people now, to say the least. It was not likely that my mother could bear another, and so my brother was groomed for…politics from the day he learned to speak. He had no choice in the matter, but he had a natural gift for it. Or, I don't know, perhaps it just seemed natural because he began so early. Whatever the case, he was well on his way to becoming one of the greatest leaders my people ever had when my mother became pregnant again, with me. Children are rare, but daughters are…nearly unprecedented, especially as a second child. I should not have been born. My mother always said I was too stubborn, that I wanted life and I fought for it."

"You, too stubborn? Perish the thought," Elmont teased. The laugh that burst from her throat surprised her, and she found herself leaning back to him, craving the comfort of his embrace while also desperately wanting to be free of it.

She shook her head and continued. "I learned a little of what my brother was taught, but mostly I learned to fight. As a female, I was given much more freedom to choose my own path. And there was already one child being taught to lead in my family; there was little need for another. Or so we thought. After my mother died, my father grew very distant and withdrawn, and my brother became…restless. He wanted to see the world. As a member of the council, he wanted to visit the nations and lands about which he may be called upon to make decisions. His requests were denied. He came to see me one night, and in the morning…he had left. Packed all of his belongings, and just…vanished. We think he stowed away on a merchant ship."

She shivered, her fingers starting to tremble. She could feel Elmont's hands trying to pull her closer, but she refused to let him. "At first, he wrote to me, when he could, apologizing for not saying goodbye, telling me he'd return as soon as he'd seen enough. But the letters came less frequently, and he stopped making mention of a return, and then they simply…stopped coming. Though sometimes… Sometimes birds would bring me trinkets, jewelry and combs and things from distant lands. I like to think he just forgot how to write our language, but he still thought of me. Eventually those stopped as well, and we soon heard that he had been killed."

"_Killed_?" The sympathy in his tone made the bile rise in the back of her throat, and she drew further from him.

"At first we thought it a threat of war from the nation he was living in at the time. Later we learned this was not the case. He died a criminal, alone and far from home."

"I'm so sorry, Draaga," Elmont murmured, and she could tell from his tone of voice that he truly was. "What… What was his name?"

She shook her head furiously, wiping stubbornly at her eyes. She was _not_ going to cry, not after all this time, not in front of him. "I cannot speak it. He did not die an honorable death, and so his name cannot be spoken. My brother chose, of his own free will, to abandon Kaerregg for another land. Another home. He…he was a _traitor_."

Elmont released her, finally, pulling away. He was silent for a long time. "So…if you tell your council that you want to stay here..?"

Draaga choked back a sob and lurched to her feet, striding toward the door and away from him. She stood still for a moment, gathering herself. She was not going to cry. "I do not feel like talking anymore. Please take me to the king now."

* * *

King Brahmwell was remarkably gracious about the sudden change of plan—Draaga suspected he was merely glad to be rid of her. Elmont had escorted her to her home so she could get her things, and then went to retrieve her horse, instructing her to meet him at the city gate when she was ready to leave.

It was strange how so much of her life could fit in such a small bag, she thought, looking around the small hut she'd come to consider home. Most of her belongings had to be left behind; either she would have no need for them in Kaerregg, or they could be easily replaced. And, God willing, she might have the chance to at least come back for them, though admittedly she didn't think the odds were on her side.

With a bitter sigh, she threw the bag over her shoulder and strode to the door, crossing the threshold and locking the door for what might be the last time. In the yard beside the well stood Crawe and Isabelle, and Draaga felt her heart drop right out of her chest.

"Milady?" Crawe called hesitantly. Draaga let her bag fall to the ground as she ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck.

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you," she whispered as he wrapped his arms around her. "Please forgive me."

He squeezed her tighter. "It is already forgotten, milady."

She laughed, releasing him and taking a step back. "I am going to miss hearing that, I think."

"Then you'll just have to come back to hear it again," he told her with a grin.

"I will do my best," she promised, turning to face Isabelle. The princess was already crying, so Draaga grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Isabelle…"

"Please come back, Draaga."

"I will do everything I can, sweet girl. I promise you. And until then, I will write to you as often as I am able."

"I will miss you so much."

Draaga screwed her eyes shut, blinking back tears. "Not nearly as much as I will miss you. I've never had a sister before, but if I had, I'd want her to be just like you."

This only made the princess cry harder, to the point that she could no longer speak. Draaga pulled back, kissed the young woman on the forehead, and stepped away to retrieve her bag. "I will need someone to look after my house while I'm away," she informed them, holding the key out. "Could you do that for me, Princess?"

Isabelle nodded, still too upset to speak. Draaga pressed the key into her hands, folding the girl's fingers around the cool metal and placing a kiss on her knuckles. "Keep up with your training; when I get back, I expect to see how you've approved. And be good to your guardians. Try not to make things harder for them."

"I will," Isabelle gasped.

Draaga reached up and wiped the tears from her cheek. "And don't you dare cry for me, sweet girl. I'll be back before you know it." She almost believed herself. Almost. "I have to go now. Take care of her, Crawe."

"You know I will, milady."

"I know. Goodbye, my friends."

It took all of Draaga's willpower to walk away from them, away from home, away from Cloister. Her trek through the city streets was over too soon, and she found herself at the gate.

"Did you tell Crawe and Isabelle that I am leaving?"

Elmont finished adjusting the saddle on her horse and turned to look at her. "They were concerned about you."

Draaga nodded, wanting to smile though she assumed it looked more like a grimace. "Thank you for doing that. I'm glad I got to…say goodbye…"

"…Right." Elmont reached over and took the bag from her shoulder, draping it over the horse and tying it to the saddle. "I…will pray that you get what you want, Draaga."

She bit her lip, glancing up at him. When she first arrived in Albion, she thought the best day of her life would be the day she left. Now that that day was here, it felt like one of the worst.

Elmont was watching her closely, his eyes roving over her as though committing her to memory. If this was to truly be the last time she saw him, she was determined to make it count.

She rose up on the tips of her toes, placed a hand to his cheek, and brushed her lips against his.

Immediately, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, deepening the kiss and taking her breath away. His beard and mustache tickled against her skin, and his lips were dry and chapped; but they were warm and insistent, full of promise of pleasures she could never have.

She gripped his shoulder, holding on for dear life as the bones in her legs liquefied beneath her. He pulled her closer, keeping her steady against him as the fingers of his free hand worked their way into her hair and his tongue slipped between her lips to brush against her own.

Gasping, they broke the kiss, and he eased her back to the ground and pressed his forehead against hers. His breath was ragged and hot against her cheeks. "If you hadn't done that, I would have," he murmured, his voice low, and she shivered.

"Elmont—"

"_John_," he corrected. "When you think of me, remember me as John."

Her own name was burning on her tongue, and she wanted nothing more than to share such intimacy with him. But she had already allowed this to go much too far, so she choked it back. "I will," she breathed.

He pressed another, chaste kiss to her lips, and then released her and stepped away. He took her hand and helped her to mount the horse. "Goodbye, Draaga," he murmured, kissing the back of her hand.

She blinked, and found that her eyes were full of tears. "Goodbye, John."

And then she nudged her horse and rode away from him, perhaps forever.

* * *

**Elmont -**

With an annoyed sigh, Elmont knocked on the heavy wooden door. "Princess! Are you in there?" He heard shuffling inside, but received no reply. "Open the door, Princess."

"Go away!"

"Princess Isabelle, let me in right this moment!" He heard movement inside, and finally a click of the door unlocking. He tried the handle and stepped inside the home that had belonged to Lady Draaga.

"It doesn't smell like her anymore." Isabelle stood behind the door, clutching one of Draaga's pillows to her chest. She looked as though she'd been crying.

Elmont was sworn to protect the young princess from everything. How could he protect her from this? He stepped forward and folded Isabelle into his arms, holding her close. "I'm sorry. I miss her, too."

Half a year had passed since Draaga left for Kaerregg, and he was finally coming to terms with the fact that she would not be returning. The princess was having a much more difficult time coping. He couldn't blame her. The Lady Draaga had become an integral part of all of their lives. Without her, there was just…something missing. He didn't know if things would ever be the same.

Someone pounded furiously on the door, startling them both apart. "Captain! Captain, come quick!" Crawe's voice was urgent, and the pounding continued.

Elmont threw the door open. "What on earth—"

"At the gate! Captain," Crawe gasped, a grin spreading across his face, "She's back."

For a moment, Elmont's heart stopped in his chest, and time seemed to stand still. But then it raced to catch up, and he was shoving the princess out the door and pulling her up to the back of a horse and they were racing to the city gate.

A crowd had already begun to gather there, and they had to force their way through before finally spotting the familiar shock of white hair.

"Draaga!" Isabelle was first off the horse, rushing forward and throwing herself into the woman's open arms. Draaga caught her with ease, spinning in a circle and swinging the princess around with a bright laugh.

Elmont took his time dismounting and making his through the crowd to her, letting the women have their time to catch up. Draaga looked…tired, to say the least. There were bags under her eyes, and her hair was wild and falling out of her braid, falling in her face. He couldn't get a good look, but there appeared to be a nasty bruise on her jaw, with a cut in the very center.

But then she spotted him and grinned, and all of that (and everything else in the world) faded away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and she was happy to see him, and she was _back_. He wanted to kiss her, here, in front of all these people and Crawe and the princess, to feel her warm, soft lips against his again. He'd dreamt of that kiss every night for six months.

But when he approached, her dark eyes were hesitant and guarded, and she greeted him with, "Hello, Captain." Not John, or even Elmont, but Captain. With a heavy heart, he was reminded of her words before she'd left, that her brother had died a traitor for choosing to live in a different land. The fact that she had managed to return to Albion was a miracle in itself; he was a fool to think that anything had changed between them, that anything even _could_.

So he settled for simply being glad to have her back again, and returned her grin. "Hello, Draaga." He stepped close and raised his hand to her cheek; pure fright flashed across her features, and he knew it was because she thought he was going to kiss her again, and his heart plummeted further. But he merely brushed against what he now saw was definitely a bruise, his brow lowering in concern when she flinched away from the light touch. "What is this?"

She looked away, no longer meeting his eyes. "The council could not make a decision, so we fought for it. I did not do so well."

Lady Draaga of Kaerregg was one of the greatest fighters Elmont had ever seen. He wondered if the rest of her people were even more skilled than she, or if, perhaps, she had…thrown the fight, to increase her chances of being allowed to return. There was something suspicious to how she would not meet his eyes… "And your father?"

"He is gone." Her words were clipped and her expression was decidedly blank. "His brother, my uncle, will take his place."

Anger cut through him like a lance at the thought of her being made to fight her own family; it was likely this uncle had been the one to bruise her lovely face, and for that, Elmont hated him. But a part of him loved the man, for taking up the role that would have stolen her away forever. "And…how long are you back?"

She finally met his eyes again, a small smile replacing her calculated dispassion. "The council trusts my judgment. I am here for as long as I tell them I must be. For as long as it takes."


End file.
